Original subtitles

Dear Red Shoes, this isn't exactly a letter.

This isn't a letter.

It's more like a confession of a cathartic, life -changing, liberating

experience I had recently.

Like one of those dreams where you suddenly realize that you can fly.

Looking down from above, weightless, exhilarated, brave.

When the spell broke, I realized I needed a little time back in my world to

reflect upon what we had.

And I gave myself a month.

I went where I always go when I'm sad.

I traveled out into the country to an abandoned old castle.

My uncle's the caretaker there.

I used to spend the summers there when I was a kid.

It's big and dusty and haunted with memories.

First time we touched was here.

First time we made love was here.

When we first met I'd send him messages and he'd send them back.

Training pigeons together was a part of how we fell in love.

I never thought I'd fall in love.

fall in love.

And when I did, I just happened to be with the least likely man on earth.

Not that he isn't wonderful.

It's that he's an artist.

Not just an ordinary artist.

His subjects are women.

All of them young.

All of them beautiful.

And all of them naked.

I told myself I'd get used to it.

Even though I knew he wasn't sleeping with them, it was still hard to take,

seeing him that close to them, that intimate.

Call it jealousy.

insecurity, whatever it was, it was still hard to take.

I even tried modeling for him.

I've never done anything like it before.

And I'd be lying if I didn't say it excited me.

I mean really excited me.

The paint.

on my body.

Its warmth.

The texture.

The intimacy.

To be that free.

His eyes on my body.

The paint.

on my body.

And I watched his concentration, his focus,

to

be that free.

It excited me.

when I was with him, it was like we were floating on a cloud in our

own little world.

Perfect.

So perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

And then I began to think, if it excited me that much to be with him that way,

what about them?

The other women?

imagination started running wild.

All I could see was him with those other women.

It was him with those other women.

Jealousy.

Insecurity.

I knew whatever it was, it would eventually destroy what we had.

Oh, wow. Please.

Everything. So I decided to leave.

There's nothing I can do to convince you to stay.

It's me.

It's nothing to do with you.

It's all in my head.

Let me know that you're okay. I will.

It's crazy what we do to ourselves, projecting our worst nightmares, our

fears.

And it filled me with sorrow.

And it filled me with pain.

And all I could think about was him.

And he kept on calling.

The phone kept ringing.

But what could I say to him?

I hate phones and telegrams and faxes.

But what could I say to him?

It had nothing to do with him.

It was me.

It was all in my head.

The phone just kept on ringing.

Come on, guys.

What about all those lovers and generals on the battlefield?

Napoleon and Josephine?

Caesar and Cleopatra?

Tarzan and Jane.

Cleopatra lying awake at night in Egypt, wondering if Caesar was being faithful

to her, wondering how she measured up to those other women.

much I missed him.

How much he meant to me.

Jealousy sucks.

Insecurity sucks.

Son of a bitch. I missed him so much.

Maybe if I send him one word at a time.

Stupid.

Jealous.

Insecure.

Weak.

I don't know what to do.

That image of you in the hallway that day.

I'm still trying to understand why.

Can't paint.

Can't sleep.

Don't want to sleep.

Can't sleep.

Don't want to sleep.

Can't eat.

Don't want to eat.

Can't work.

Can't sleep.

Don't want to work. Don't want to sleep.

Can't paint.

Don't want to paint.

Miss you.

Love you.

Want you.

Need you.

Want you.

And we just kept sending the notes back and forth.

The more notes we sent, the better I felt.

Freer.

Calmer.

More in love.

Completely in love.

Miss you.

Love you.

Want you.

Miss

you.

Need you.

Want you.

Miss you.

I can't live without you.

I need you.

I want you. I miss you. I want you. I miss you.

Come home.

Can't live without you.

Please come home.

If you ever paint yourself into a corner, into a place where you can't

way out, my advice to you is to just shut your eyes and jump.

You do that?

Jump up.