When you delineated love, it’s as if it defies even the meaning of eternity. I, young sir, desires that you learn that I am one of your greatest aficionado, and however you made your life worth the living, the moment of spending thy life, I envy it as well. But help me, dear prince of Montague, how I am to define love right now. I may say preclude at the onset to state that I am in no correct state of mind to converse with you of my tale, but talk about it not for in the meantime, help me with how I am feeling.
Love today, our dear fulfillment of the feud, is like a flower. It starts with a seed, it grows flamboyantly, and blossoms with smell that can awaken Shakespeare, thine creator. Yet, how lovely it began its being, how bitter things see the end. How stupendous idiosyncratic of giving the feeling will end in a nightmare, in an eternal longing, in an abyssal despair. My dearest prince, taker of maidenhead, I have no courage to take my life the way you did. For thy sacrifice is nothing but everything. For thy words and actions are but the epitome of purity and is not stained by any factitiousness. You dear prince, together with the flower of the Capulets, momentously showered the world with the ideology of loving. And my grief, my shallow and acrimonious grief, is replaced with a shrug, not even the slightest consolidating hug, but a shun, a mellifluous treacherous goodbye. How I wished that I died long before this tragedy struck me. How I wish that your story became our story, and that I will not regret, even taking everything from me, even my breath, even my life, even my soul, for I know that what I felt was veritable, was genuine, was devoted.
This moment, my dear prince, I cannot understand! Should my feelings rot, should my soul break, should my body tear open, I still long for one person. I still hold on to the same feeling. I still pervade myself with tears. Even if my lover’s words are cold. Even if my lover’s words were harsh, even if it exudes loathing, I still hold on, I still cry. Tell me dearest amongst the Montague, what should I do?
With all the candor I can commiserate,
I had this thought after watching the Movie above… There is something with reality, it can’t and doesn’t obscure the truth… I hope Romeo can hear me and be a buddy to drink this problem up…
After all, what is wrong if I live with this fantasy?