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Late Sunday night

Dearest diary,

I hardly know where to start! So much has happened this day, and it is taking all of my willpower not to rush into perhaps the most important of what I have to say.
Where should I start? I suppose I shall start when I… No, I am getting ahead of myself. Let me see…

“Tell me, daughter Juliet, what stands your disposition to be married?” [1.3 69-70] asked my mother, the Lady Capulet, this morning. At these fateful words, I answered, mostly truthfully, “It is an honor that I dream not of.” [1.3 71] An honor, indeed. Marriage is such a final thing, somehow, and I don’t want to lose my childhood because of some rich suitor just yet. I suppose it is only to be expected that I marry soon, but…

Mother then proceeded to tell me that Paris, a wealthy gentleman who is well known with our family and a cousin of the prince, seeks me for his love. I did not know what to say to this, as I had never considered marrying him, even in jest! Finally I agreed that I would watch him at tonight’s ball, and at least try to make myself like him enough to marry him.

However, I could not help but think to myself that I could not, no matter what, marry Paris. Why should I? Certainly, he is kind, and smart, and brave, and quite wealthy, but I would much rather be in love with my husband-to-be. I suppose it is nonsense to talk of love, but I just could not be happy as Paris’ wife.

All too soon, the dinner party came and I found myself more nervous and excited than I perhaps should have been. As I danced, I suddenly felt the most peculiar feeling that I was being watched. I turned to see who the unseen watcher was (Paris was in front of me talking to some of his friends, so it couldn’t have been him). My eyes roamed the room and met another pair of eyes. They belonged to a handsome young man, perhaps a few years older than myself (I’m nearly fourteen). I quickly turned away and continued to dance, but the strangest feeling had come over me. There was something about those eyes…

I do not even want to write the rest, as I am afraid that someone will find this diary, however clever my hiding-place may be.

All I shall say is this: somehow, he managed to get me in a more secluded area of the manor, and he leaned in and he kissed me! The party, the manor, the people; everything vanished but for the two of us. I can still remember the feel of his lips on mine…

But alas! My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me that I must love a loathed enemy. [1.5 152-155]

The very man I have gone and lost my heart to is Romeo, a Montague! My only enemy! Why? Why? Surely the Fates hate me!

I love thee, Romeo! I love thee! But why, why, why must you be a Montague?!?

—I must go. Nurse is calling and I certainly don’t want her to find this, so, until later, dear, sweet and only confidant!

-Juliet Capulet

Description
Late Sunday night

Dearest diary,

I hardly know where to start! So much has happened this day, and it is taking all of my willpower not to rush into perhaps the most important of what I have to say.
Where should I start? I suppose I shall start when I… No, I am getting ahead of myself. Let me see…

“Tell me, daughter Juliet, what stands your disposition to be married?” [1.3 69-70] asked my mother, the Lady Capulet, this morning. At these fateful words, I answered, mostly truthfully, “It is an honor that I dream not of.” [1.3 71] An honor, indeed. Marriage is such a final thing, somehow, and I don’t want to lose my childhood because of some rich suitor just yet. I suppose it is only to be expected that I marry soon, but…

Mother then proceeded to tell me that Paris, a wealthy gentleman who is well known with our family and a cousin of the prince, seeks me for his love. I did not know what to say to this, as I had never considered marrying him, even in jest! Finally I agreed that I would watch him at tonight’s ball, and at least try to make myself like him enough to marry him.

However, I could not help but think to myself that I could not, no matter what, marry Paris. Why should I? Certainly, he is kind, and smart, and brave, and quite wealthy, but I would much rather be in love with my husband-to-be. I suppose it is nonsense to talk of love, but I just could not be happy as Paris’ wife.

All too soon, the dinner party came and I found myself more nervous and excited than I perhaps should have been. As I danced, I suddenly felt the most peculiar feeling that I was being watched. I turned to see who the unseen watcher was (Paris was in front of me talking to some of his friends, so it couldn’t have been him). My eyes roamed the room and met another pair of eyes. They belonged to a handsome young man, perhaps a few years older than myself (I’m nearly fourteen). I quickly turned away and continued to dance, but the strangest feeling had come over me. There was something about those eyes…

I do not even want to write the rest, as I am afraid that someone will find this diary, however clever my hiding-place may be.

All I shall say is this: somehow, he managed to get me in a more secluded area of the manor, and he leaned in and he kissed me! The party, the manor, the people; everything vanished but for the two of us. I can still remember the feel of his lips on mine…

But alas! My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me that I must love a loathed enemy. [1.5 152-155]

The very man I have gone and lost my heart to is Romeo, a Montague! My only enemy! Why? Why? Surely the Fates hate me!

I love thee, Romeo! I love thee! But why, why, why must you be a Montague?!?

—I must go. Nurse is calling and I certainly don’t want her to find this, so, until later, dear, sweet and only confidant!

-Juliet Capulet