July 10th 1484

DEAREST DIARY,

I can hardly write for my hand trembles so much with anger and with undercurrents of despair, but I will try to recount the horrible predicament the stars have laid before me. I think it might do some good to retell it, nobody has any sympathy for poor me and you can be very understanding dear diary.

I had made up my mind to love the Capulets, for now I am one of them I suppose. I found it in my heart to love Tybalt. How strong must my love for Juliet be that I could manage to swear to love a sworn enemy? But it matters not now, Tybalt is slain dead by my hand and sword and I have come to realize that we cannot love a person for their name alone, for the same reasons we cannot hate a body for their name alone.

It is a strange, strange thing that one heart can feel so much at one time and not self-destruct. But, it is a far stranger thing still that I can go on living, writing calmly and showing no outward signs of my inner turmoil. First and foremost, I am loving Juliet and then worrying for her. What will become of us once she hears of her cousin's death? Can she ever forgive me? And then there is this feeling of guilt. I do feel guilty and miserable at the thought of my anger ending a man's life and causing my love to grieve. Yet still, I am not sorry that I slew Tybalt, for there is hatred burning still in my heart along with that hatred's cause; an anguish and grievance over Mercutio's death. Finally, encompassing that raw emptiness that Mercutio's friendship filled in latter days is more remorse, to think that my interfering with the brawl between him and his killer may have caused the fatal blow to my dearest friend and ally. His final words haunt me still, "A plague on both your houses" he said, and I might have taken heed to those words and let Tybalt flee unscathed and unpunished. But, I did not listen and now I sit in the Friar's cell mourning, loving, worrying and hating, facing banishment from the only city I have ever known, fair Verona. If that were not enough, I face exile from a city which contains a love that is fairer still. Will I never see Juliet again?

Once again the Friar is unaware and uncomforting in this matter. He continues to claim that I have all the luck to be recipient of the Prince's pity, for he softens the previous death penalty for feuding in Verona and curses me instead with exile. Has he no mercy? It is better to show some compassion by sentencing death and end such misery rather than continue with the slow and painful torture that is banishment. When it comes to matters of fortune, I am rich in misfortune for it is once again my old foe the stars who decide upon luck and destiny. Friar may believe those cursed radiant demons are merciful, but I know that they lay out my sorrowful future with grins on their faces, knowing the long suffering that awaits me in solitary ostracism.

Oh how may I go on when all I know and love is lost in the havoc of quarrel? For all my anguish stems from that cursed, hateful feud that haunts every waking hour and every nightmare with its total unjustly entailing nature. That I should be the one to inherit such a grave misfortune! Oh that I might be some other name! Or that I might be dead and gone like Mercutio and Tybalt, free from such grim dooming kismet.

ROMEO MONTAGUE