"O, she knew well. Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, go with me. In one respect I'll thy assistant be. For this alliance may so happy prove, to turn your households' rancour to pure love."
Henley stared blankly at the students in front of the classroom disjointedly trying to grasp the concept of Iambic Pentameter. She had no idea how her English teacher had thought having students "act out" the play was going to help the class better understand what the hell was going on. If anything, it was causing more confusion than just simply the written text.
This was her fifth time reading The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, and still thought it lacked substance. She supposed it was an okay read the first time through, but now, hearing it spat back up at her, the plot-line was weak and the meaning was...well...there really wasn't one, of any importance, at least.
From what she could tell, the only explanation needed was why Romeo was such an idiot. For Pete's sake the guy had just met her!
"O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste."
She didn't understand why this was a 'classic'. Boy meets girl, they fall madly in love, filler, then boom! They're dead. More of an extended greeting card than an actual plot. How anyone would think they were in love with someone after knowing them for no more than five minutes was ridiculous. Impossible.
Love was... well, it took time. Not a few sentences and a kiss.
The play wasn't a tragedy, it was realistic. The moral wasn't 'hatred is a wasted emotion with no other purpose than to ruin people's lives' as her teacher so put.
"Wisely and slow;" No. The moral of the story was 'don't fucking do that'.
That was the one relevant message Henley got from high school. That love at first sight isn't a flash of lightening and butterflies, it was a load of garbage. To truly love a person by definition, one needed to know said person; inside and out. Throwing one's self into something never ended well; especially not with love. Love was delicate and was not to be carried with haste.
The ending bell cut through the Friar's ending lines, but it didn't matter; Henley knew them by heart.
"They stumble that run fast." she murmured, collecting her materials off of her desk.
Yes, they do indeed.