July 12th 1484
DEAREST DIARY,
The past few days, since that destined meeting at the house of Capulet, have been a steady decline into the depths of sorrow on a wagon led by an insane and uncontrollable beast that may run off the road into a ditch at any moment. As I was driven into the pits of despair, the sun was slowly darkened by the onset of dark storm clouds which smothered its comforting cheer and I had naught but the thought of fair Juliet to comfort me. Now I have nothing and the world is pitch dark without her radiance. I know that that steed has driven me to the bottom and that I cannot go on living. My end is near and we shall be together once more in death.
The news of Juliet's death came today by mouth of Balthazar. Curse the stars, spiteful and mischievous stars. They know naught of what they play with when they fool with the hearts of men. Why those diabolic stars shine down from the heavens, residing among saints of goodness and selflessness and my lady Juliet, when they deserve to burn in the hells below for their evils against me, I can never guess. To think of them laughing and twinkling innocently as they planned for my peacemaking between Mercutio and Tybalt to be the stroke that killed both men, Juliet and ultimately myself. For Balthazar says that it is Juliet's grief over Tybalt that killed her, another blow to my already beaten conscience and soul.
I went immediately to a poor apothecary, who agreed to give me a dram of poison in exchange for gold. I entered Verona, now heedless of the law of the Prince, nothing will stand between I and death and my wife, so set and determined is my will in desperation to end this anguish. I came upon the family tomb of the Capulets, a place where no Montague should ever find himself, but I am fearless now in the face of death and no frivolous feud matters anymore. A man challenged me from the darkness and I slew him, but not without warning. I am sorry for his untimely death, but I will not be kept from Juliet, not on this night. I also seek solace, for he was County Paris, a man who would have married Juliet in my absence, and I can not find it in myself to have pity for him. And so, I entered the stone chamber, and bid adieu to the stars and their mockery. They would never look upon me again.
I write this from inside this tomb of doom, around me lay the newly dead. Tybalt slew by me, Juliet dead by Tybalt's death and Paris extinguished by my anxiousness to get to Juliet. I will leave this journal inside my vest pocket in hopes that hungry eyes will devour its contents and absorb its message. There is no room for love amidst hate. Useless, fruitless hate, the bane of all that is good and beautiful in this world. Is anyone the better for this hate? Tybalt, Mercutio, Juliet or woeful me? Who here is the winner? I fear that we all have lost in this feud for any gains can only be achieved by means of love. Though at least five lives would be saved, if I had the chance to go back and choose not to attend that party and never meet Juliet; I would not have it so. In this love I am fulfilled and I would be lost forever otherwise in a sea of hatred and malice. Beyond this love, if someone can look and see what might be learnt from this tale of woe, than it would further bring our acts to justice and make it obvious that I had not lived in vain.
I cannot imagine any end more desirable than lying here beside my love, and I can smile in death's dark eyes, for this is a peaceful joy and I pity anyone who cannot feel my eternal love. My sun has set, and she lays here eclipsed. I go to sleep with a smile upon my lips. And so, goodnight to ye.
ROMEO MONTAGUE
