Keats

I just want to be in love with John Keats right now. I know it's wrong to moon over a guy that died almost two hundred years ago, but after watching Bright Star twice this weekend, there's no hope of salvation. I'm in love with the fictitious Keats that they portray in the movie, despite his skinniness. He wrote the most beautiful letters to her, and then died on the Spanish steps in Rome. Despite living with four boys, a love of horrible action movies, and an unabashed ability to burp louder than my roommates, I am a sucker for these period romantic movies. Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, man I could watch those movies forever. For fear of my roommates swallowing cyanide halfway through, I have to watch them when I'm alone in the apartment, which is almost never. Somehow I managed to squeeze Bright Star in twice in the last three days, but that's because I was up at ungodly hours due to the sweltering heat.

A moment to pay homage to John Keats' poetry: I think Wordsworth is boring, Coleridge had a better idea, but for some reason Ode to a Nightingale has always caught me. Romantic poetry isn't my thing (poetry in general, actually), but Keats was always different. Maybe there's the aura of death that invades all of his poetry, but it's always haunted me. He died at the age of 25 believing that he failed as a poet, but today there are girls like me that go melty on the inside when they read his works, especially his letters.

Swooning in progress.