Romeo and Juliet

*closes eyes and sighs deeply* A depressing topic, it is. A tragedy, in its own fatal course. Two starcrossed lovers, and how I would love to be them. Seeing the world in a state such as this and wanting something less and yet, more than this. Wishing I, too, had someone hence to love, and being lover's plight; wishing that I loved thee less than this. Too heavy hearted, troubled in doth's own sad state and wishing only better, and having only hate. Wanting so, and having so much more but wanting such the same. Longer tired of endless games of tricks and faulty lessons learned of loving lost and loving more and having nothing less. Yet, as we live we also learn that we will never live that which we learn from romance of old ages and old kinds. We will always be less than this. We will never have that which we yearn for and see so explicitly in books and movies and dreamers lives. We will always want and always dream and never truly see the truth or block it out in misery's own divide. A fallen soldier knows no truth. And, in knowing no truth, does not truly see. So, in seeing, we lose what little we hold on to, and so, many choose not to see and close thine eyes to only truth knowing that wanting will cease the already numbing pain of truly knowing. Thus, to want is to not see and not know and find only false hope that finds only sadness in knowing there will be only less than this and not finding what we only seek to see.