Original subtitles

Romantic Note

What we believed when we were young

was more true than reality.

Production: Takis Kanellopoulos

Writer: Takis Kanellopoulos

Cinematography: Christos Triantafyllou

Directed by Takis Kanellopoulos

What's your name?

Andriana.

April the 2nd.

In the spring fog,

that's when I met her.

That night I couldn't sleep.

Everything I believed was wiped out by her presence.

What is happening to me...

I don't know.

I ask myself.

I want...

to...

I want to come to a decision.

To write it all down,

I have to write everything down.

Those about to happen

and those not.

That's what needs to be done.

Everything.

For Andriana...

for us.

For our love.

For us who loved her.

Me,

the photographer,

the painter and the architect.

I feel that...

when this diary finally becomes a book...

many will say

it was nothing but a love story.

I wonder, however...

was it merely that?

Andriana,

I am visiting your dreams.

Without permission.

Yes.

That will be the book's title:

Romantic Note.

Andriana was beautiful, like a day in May.

The photographer, beloved friend of my youth...

who was tormented by the question

whether a man withstands more than a photo.

The painter believed that the seas and the heavens

hold their own inexplicable secrets.

The architect aspired to build a city with big roads...

with lilacs in every corner.

Whereas I invade the lives of Andriana and my three friends.

The truth is, however,

we all loved Andriana.

A large plain full of poppies.

The sun has just risen.

We are all together out in the fields.

Andriana and us.

Andriana remains silent holding her umbrella.

She looks away at dawn.

The painter paints her portrait.

The photographer takes pictures.

The architect plays with the flowers.

I flip through a book

talking about a happier world.

The plain...

Andriana, us.

We possess our own truth, our own life.

Beyond reality.

It is the truth of our soul.

These moments are signs of tyranny throughout eternity.

It is a seal of a spring era.

And more than that...

it is what we call "happiness".

Her laughter

as she runs to catch the book we throw at each other.

Her white dress that is like virgin snow.

Her moves

like the warm south wind.

Yes...

That's how it is.

Love is more than a word.

This is the story of our youth.

Andriana and us.

Me...

the photographer...

the painter...

and the architect.

I don't know, I really don't.

Andriana and I.

She seems distant tonight.

I'd like to talk to her.

About all the farewells in this world.

About all the loves lost.

About youth.

She turns and looks at me.

She doesn't speak, she merely looks at me.

Well yes, Andriana.

Andriana.

I am writing a book.

About you...

and about us.

About the youth flying away,

never to come back.

About our dreams turning into hope.

About your smile...

your white dress.

About your eyes gazing away.

And furthermore...

about your soul.

Yes.

Above all, we love your soul.

Andrianna.

Don't look down, look at me.

That's how it is.

This is a moment...

That's how it is.

It is a moment...

that will never come back.

That's enough, for me.

Stolen kisses.

Sir?

Does true love exist?

Or have they lied to us?

My child...

love is everywhere.

May heavens above...

May heavens above await for us.

I often sit by the window

watching people passing by.

I then feel a knot in my heart

thinking that I will never see them again.

I keep a photo of you, hidden in my room.

I know not.

No one knows which one of us you loved.

I do not fool myself.

I'm not the one you love, neither do I know who it is.

Andriana...

your name.

What am I saying?

What am I saying?

I'm lost.

There was this boy I loved.

I was 16 years old.

That day...

he was leaving for his hometown.

I had gone to the train station

to say goodbye.

As he was greeting me,

the train was taking him away.

His smiling face has been engraved in my soul.

A year later,

I found out he died.

Do you remember?

Our date in April?

On the old train.

Do you remember?

You were telling me about farewells in train stations.

Do you remember?

The winter music.

Also...

Also...

do you remember

the first kiss?

Do you remember?

Andriana.

I see you.

The old photographer was staring at us.

He was taking pictures of youth.

He was staring as if he was looking through an open window

a summer day.

We were happy.

We were thinking that, that afternoon

would stay with us forever.

Why?

Why is he sad? What is this shine in his eyes?

Old friend of ours.

Yes.

Only you.

You are the only one I love.

I left heavens to come to you.

I know nothing about you.

Neither for the past days...

nor for the present

or for the days to come.

But...

Only you...

You are the only one bringing me to life.

I love you.

I left heavens for you.

Don't look at me like that.

Don't.

I'll be waiting here,

on the brink of heaven.

I'll be waiting for you to come...

on a sunny day.

I dream of your arrival

on a blissful day.

What's this shadow in your eyes?

Why are you sad?

Is this goodbye?

Are you telling me goodbye?

Are you leaving?

What about me?

You are leaving me.

Yes.

It's for the best.

Where do you live?

Did you say that for me?

You make me happy.

Thank you.

Tell me something...

Where has yesterday's snow gone?

What?

In our hearts?

There?

So far away?

I come from afar,

from heavens.

I love you...

What will remain of this?

Reminders...

of times long gone.

Andriana.

Smile.

Yes, like that.

Andriana, take off your hat.

Andriana.

Look at the world as if you're reading.

Andriana,

lift your hands up to the sky.

Andriana, lonely Andriana.

Andriana, one more photo.

Andriana, let me take another photo of you, looking happy.

Me?

Happy?

Everything goes around in my soul.

Andriana,

my friends...

the words,

the phrases,

the music.

I've been wandering around the streets since morning...

trying to find her secret.

I'm tired.

It doesn't matter, it will pass.

Maybe we'll see the moon tonight.

Last night

I dreamed I grew old all of a sudden.

When I woke up,

I was still young.

And yet, I wasn't happy anymore.

A small house with a flower garden...

a trip to the countryside...

remind me of you.

We were going on a trip with a small boat.

We sailed on when Andriana arrived.

There were other people too.

Young lads with a fiery soul.

We were all happy that day.

The painter,

the photographer,

the architect and I.

I leave Andriana and the others

and I walk around the boat.

I hear scattered words.

Someone asks what time the sun sets.

A girl is singing,

someone else is making a wish.

I hear loud voices from a group

and I get closer.

A girl holds Hemingway's

The Sun Also Rises.

Someone argues Fitzgerald is a better writer.

The girl insists Hemingway is more humane.

I stand by observing them.

I hear them talk about books and ideas.

I keep on walking and meet a couple.

They're in love.

He caresses her hand.

The boat is sailing away.

I reach the other end of the boat.

A girl holds flowers in her arms.

She makes a wreath and throws it into the sea.

Maybe for a lost hero she once met.

I think there's no end to the human soul.

There is a lit window which flickers in my thoughts lately.

I saw you behind that window.

On a spring evening.

I was passing by.

I was alone.

It was on the turn of the road.

It was dark all around.

I heard a song.

An old French song.

What is left of our love affairs?

What is left of the good days?

An old photo of our youth.

I stopped.

What happened next?

I saw you,

I saw your face.

Maybe you were looking in the mirror.

You fixed your hair,

you put on your hat.

As I was watching you,

I let out a small sigh.

No.

It was not a sigh of love, but something else.

Something like a storm.

I thought to myself

she will turn the lights off...

Now.

But you insisted.

Up there

in the window,

you insisted.

You started singing the same song again.

The song about the photo of youth...

keeping me still.

No.

I didn't even know your name.

Nobody knows for whom the poet's heart beats.

You are the panic among the crowd.

Truth lies in your eyes.

I dreamed last night,

that a star fell besides you.

As you approach

I feel lost.

What happened to those air tickets for the date of a great love affair?

Those sleepless nights...

That violet forgotten on your window.

Why don't you speak?

What are you waiting for?

What are you asking for?

Reminders of old days

are gathered here,

at the corner of the room.

The street florist sells flowers to lovers.

Every time we see you...

may as well be the last one.

The daylight is fading

and despair settles into my heart.

The fog covers your face,

shadows of winter your eyes.

Why do you say you are alone?

I write you letters every day.

Andriana,

what is your white secret?

Yesterday, a train left late at night.

And I thought you were gone forever.

Yes.

Like that...

As if you had loved me.

Like the books about passionate love affairs.

I love you as I love my dreams.

What is this music coming from afar?

Your 20 years of age

are running around the white rosebushes.

Our pass through your life...

will leave no more marks

than a stone falling into a quiet lake.

I lay in-between truth and falsehood.

Everything I write about Andriana and friends of youth...

is beauty.

And at the same time

the fog of dreams.

The beginning of the story I write is abrupt and happy.

What will be the end of the book?

I wonder.

That question torments me at night.

The soul.

I feel that Andriana will leave us.

Maybe these writings

are the last pages of the book.

I love you.

I'm drinking.

I am drinking wine.

To your kisses I never met

nor will I ever.

It's night.

It seems this night will be long.

If I keep drinking like that, I'll get drunk.

My fiery girl...

How would you know?

How would you know about desperate nights?

How would you know about unfairness of love?

How would you know about farewells?

How would you know about the turmoil in the soul?

I know I'm being unfair.

You're right.

Youth is always right.

Do you remember?

What do you remember?

I had a dream,

that you loved me.

That was the dream,

you loved me.

I dreamed it was summer,

we were both on a boat.

You had a parasol

and wore a lot of lipstick.

You were staring at me

with those eyes.

Those unique eyes of yours.

As we sailed in the open, you whispered

"It's such a beautiful day".

You're laughing!

Yes.

Won't you speak?

You are silent.

Did you mean that?

Was it true?

You caressed my hair, like the falling snow.

I opened my eyes.

We were on the edge of the sea.

On the edge of the world.

That was my dream,

you loved me.

Dreams are harsh.

Like a snowy sea.

Like the pages of a book

that no one buys anymore.

Like the asphalt

in the summer heat.

Burning.

Yes.

Dreams are harsh.

And you write.

Day and night you write.

And you dream of a better world.

A happier one.

Last night you were writing...

you were drinking wine...

and talked to me

about love...

and youth.

You are still dreaming

while everything is almost over.

Why do you look at me like that?

Our story is true.

As true as a meeting can be...

between travelers...

whose paths will eventually be separated.

No, no.

Do not look at me beggingly.

I am the beaten one.

I am the one who couldn't live.

I recall something you once told me.

"Andriana, who runs faster?"

"A train or a swallow?"

I laughed then.

Dreams are harsh...

like solitary heights.

I have nothing to expect.

I am a few steps away from despair.

And maybe

from death.

There is nothing worse than the end of love.

We all on to a hope,

one last hope.

That Andriana might stay.

Maybe she will stay with us forever.

But that was the last time we saw her.

The last night of our youth.

She left without a trace,

without us knowing why.

Without telling us anything.

The windows of her house are closed.

And so is her door.

That's when we decided to leave the city behind.

The time has come, we are parting.

Farewell.

She will come back.

Andriana.

Romantic Note