Dear Diary:
I have had the most exhilarating night. At this night's party I met a young man not much older than myself. He is tall. He is handsome and charming. His eyes twinkle like stars in a cloudless night sky. His voice, smooth and gentle, yet strong much like a late autumn breeze. I must have strayed into a dream. Such a good dream. 'Tis a beautiful, wonderful dream but, alas, 'tis also my worst nightmare for he, my dearest Romeo, is a Montague. Should mother or father know of us, I dare not think of it. Horrendous the outcome would be. I should not have spoken to him. I would not have if I had known of his family. No! No, I should not think like that. A name is only a name. Whether he be Montague or not, whether he is called King or peasant, Luctentio or Bud Spud, it matters not. This feud between our families is petty and ridiculous. Romeo and I, I believe we are the ones who will put an end to the foolishness. I love him with all my heart can conceive. I give him my love, such feelings stretch to the moon, beyond the stars and to the very edges of all things known and unknown. I said this unto him when he came to my balcony tonight. I curse thee nurse! Curse thee for calling me and stealing me away from my Romeo. He kissed me, his lips upon my cheek as rain pecks at the soft, ruby petals of a rose. Romeo is so dashing and daring, so charming and sweet and strong. He departed but an hour ago and already I long for his presence. Romeo swore his love to me, we art to be married tomorrow! The joy I feel, side by side with my fear, excitement along with nervous trembling toes, and my rising anxious heart forbid me to sleep. Now I should be resting but I cannot. I write to thee instead. Never in my life, never in my long lived thirteen years have I felt a swell of emotions. My heart is a cooking pot steaming and spitting and boiling over as the ingredients to love, the ingredients to love being my emotions, are stirred in all at once and all too many for one soul to contain and thus must spill over, running from my heart and my hand onto your pages.
Tomorrow cannot come soon enough. I wish for the blazing orb of orange to rise as swift as it ever has even if it must push the gentle pale face away, force it from the sky with all the might of God and let day break. The sooner the sun rises the sooner I shall be married, and not to the man my father so easily gave into. Eavesdropping is not lady like. I am a lady and I do not eavesdrop; however, our servants do speak ever so loud, I could not help but hear them speak of father's plans, how eagerly he gave me up to Paris. Paris of all men! If I were not so deeply ailed by love sickness I would be outraged. Paris! Father how could you think of that? Compared to Romeo, Paris is a mouse He is a mouse leaving of others in a heap of rotting vegetables. Honestly father! No I shall marry Romeo. We will leave Verona if our families will choose to be pigheaded and childish. Like the fairy tales my dear and so very strange and loud nurse used to tell me, "Love so strong is written in the stars and thus true love endures and we will live happily ever after." I will leave you now with these words for I must get some sleep and there is also the letter I must write for Romeo and give to Nurse.
