I never felt bad for Romeo and Juliet.
Don’t get me wrong. The play’s a classic, and Shakespeare was by all means a literary genius, but I just don’t understand how two people who barely knew each other could give up their lives so willingly.
It was for love, people argue—true, everlasting love. But in my opinion, that’s a load of garbage. Love takes more than a couple days and a secret, shotgun marriage to develop into something worth dying for.
I’ll admit that Romeo and Juliet were passionate. But their passion was so intense, so destructive, that it got them killed. I mean, the entire play is driven by their impulsive decisions. Don’t believe me? Take Juliet, for example. What girl’s first thought would be to marry the son of her father’s mortal enemy after she catches him spying outside her bedroom window? Not mine, that’s for sure. So that’s really why they lost my sympathy vote. There was no preparation—or even thinking, for that matter. They just did, regardless of the consequences. When you don’t plan ahead, things get messy.
And after what happened three months ago, after my life was completely thrown off course, a messy love life was the last thing I needed.
