Frankly, my dear . . .

. . . I don't give a damn. 

The immortal words of Clark Gable were never "Gone with the Wind" and are, quite frankly, a personal mantra I'd like to adopt. It is such an awful story, really. 

Scarlett blinded by her own unrequited love until it is too late. It should be abhorrent, as an ending, as a viewer I should be devastated or at the very least a bit cheated. As far as love stories go, romance films end with a kiss. Right? Oddly, I was satisfied. There was something about the succinctness. There was nothing else left to say. It was so . . . honest.

That is what "frankly" means. To be honest, to in truth say something. I believe honesty is quite underrated. It is rare and slightly terrifying to not only say what you are thinking or by god feeling, because we are rarely truly honest with ourselves. That is perhaps why honesty and truth aren't mutually exclusive principals. 

Seeing such unbridled honesty I believe is like bearing witness to a live birth; a riveting, awkward, slightly horrifying, and strangely beautiful experience. 

I don't know how frank became an adverb and then a modifier; the english major part of my psyche loves it for that alone, but I'm intrigued. While using the word "frankly" infers the following words are part of some truth or at least honest, it doesn't ensure it. 

Quite frankly, I think Rhett was lying. He gave a damn, all right.