Juliet wept no more. She tried to be angry, or happy, or content, or resigned, but she could not. She pleaded with Romeo, we must do this no more. I always lose you, my lover, and my brother, and mercutio. We always die, no love can stop this. For centuries we have falling in love, we star cursed lovers. Doomed in out ironic immortality. We cannot be as lovers in peace but persist as tragic icons of romance as an example to people who will not learn.
so endeth our tale of woe? asked the dear fair Romeo, is the tale of romance, our moment of love to be forgotten?
What right does the world have to torture us so? dear Romeo, do we not deserve peace? I am a vunerable soul trapped in glass, observed and scrutinised and analyzed, my sentence eternally deferred as I wait for judgement to decide my fate. Our love is divine, matched only by out naivety. We always fall in love, it is undeniable, we will always have it, but the world does not deserve it.
But Juliet, said Romeo, you are the Sun. What is the world without your love?
