
We lived a secret life, hidden from your husband--a romance of furtive meetings and a future eternally postponed. We stole a week to be together in France; I still could never film us directly, but in the textures and details of the city, I captured the tragic absences of our affair, infinite in the shadows, impossible in the open. Years later, I found these grainy old videotapes--faded like memory, feelings raw but transformed--and composed a love letter to who we once were, what we could’ve been.
8.0
7.4
7.0
6.9
7.1
7.2
6.9
6.2
7.2
6.7
7.4
6.5
6.7
8.4
7.8
7.7
6.4
6.9