Dear Romeo, I Won’t Be Your Juliet

Picture this: It’s the perfect setting. They are in a restaurant, the lighting is just perfect, soft, with candles casting romantic tones. The music in the background is not overwhelming. It’s their anniversary, the night he first saw her. He’s holding her hand, telling her how beautiful she is. She blushes and tells him that he looks good too. He’s slightly nervous, although he knows she will say yes. Their conversation is light, never venturing into deep territory. She eats, and he pushes the food around on his plate.

After their plates are cleared away, he clears his throat and holds both her hands. He goes down on one knee, and she gasps, holding her hands to her mouth in an attempt at surprise. She’s had an inkling about the proposal, her nails are prepped and she’s dressed to the nines. She’s aware that there could be a photographer in hiding, capturing the moment that she will later share on social media. He declares how much he loves her. He talks about how she’s the sun to his earth, how when he met her, he found meaning. He tells her she’s his ride-or-die, the Juliet to his Romeo.

All of that is so sweet. A tad sappy, but sweet, and it definitely falls under romance. Where he loses me, though, is the allusion to Romeo and Juliet.

We all know the story of Romeo and Juliet. It was read in our English classes. There was that movie that had guns instead of swords and cars instead of horses, with post-Titanic Leonardo DiCaprio and pre-Homeland Claire Danes. If you don’t know the story, I’m sorry for the spoilers you’re about to read, but I’m judging you, one percenter. Judging you so hard.

Star-crossed lovers from two feuding families fall in love and die. The end. To be fair, there are a lot more themes explored in this Shakespearean play; however, the primary theme is the romantic love between the titular Juliet and Romeo.

I’m not entirely sure when people started relating to the two lovers. I’m not sure when it became cool to call our significant others ‘my Juliet’ or ‘my Romeo’. I’m not sure how we started to relate to these two fictional characters that were written in the 16th Century. But I feel the need to burst our bubbles a bit.

There’s nothing romantic about a couple of people who choose death over life because of love.

I think while we are busy idealizing this couple, we need to know the facts. First of all, Juliet was prepubescent. She is mentioned as being 13, high on adult hormones that were encouraging her to rebel against everything she knew. And she was hidden in a tall tower. Romeo’s age is never mentioned in the text, but think about it—if she was 13, he was also most likely in his teens. I mean, she still had a nurse, a person who breastfed her.

Secondly, Romeo fell in love with just a look, and this was after waxing lyrical about his beloved Roseline. He saw Juliet, discarded his beloved, and fell head over heels for Juliet. She saw him and fell in love, and then they planned to get married the very next day. I mean, is that not crazy? I use the word “love” very loosely.

As you can probably tell, I am just a little bit bitter about this. I am so baffled by this—that these kids are who we base our idea of what romance is. I can love a person, but not enough to die for them—that’s Jesus’ job. Romeo and Juliet were selfish in their love.

Whenever I hear someone say, “He’s my Romeo,” or “She’s my Juliet,” I get confuzzled. I suppose I can get the allure of it—he killed himself because of her, and then she up and killed herself too because she ‘couldn’t live without him’. And we’ve all wanted that kind of love, but I think while we are following our hearts, we may need to take our brains with us.

It’s fascinating, isn’t it, how we’ve come to romanticize unhealthy relationships? In today’s world, where we have endless conversations about self-love, mental health, and emotional well-being, we still hold on to these outdated, toxic ideals. Romeo and Juliet, despite being teenagers swept up in a whirlwind of forbidden love, are often held up as the gold standard of romance. But what about the red flags? The impulsivity, the lack of communication, the emotional manipulation—these are all things we’re taught to avoid in relationships, yet we overlook them when it comes to these two.

Think about it: we live in a time where ‘ghosting’ and ‘breadcrumbing’ are part of our dating vocabulary, and we’re all trying to navigate the complexities of love and relationships in this digital age. We swipe left and right, we text back and forth, and we scroll through endless feeds looking for that spark. And yet, some of us still want a love that would drive us to drink poison? It’s like we’re caught between wanting a fairytale and understanding that life is not a Shakespearean drama.

All of this may be because, deep down, we all crave a love that feels larger than life—a love that defies the odds and makes us feel alive. But in our quest for that kind of love, are we sacrificing our sanity, our stability, our sense of self? After all, it’s easy to get caught up in the idea of a love so intense that it burns everything else away, but that fire can be dangerous. It can consume you.

So, dear future husband, while I’m all for grand gestures and sweeping declarations of love, let’s keep it real. You can be the sun to my moon, the fish in my ocean, the rose in my garden. What you can’t be is my Romeo. Let’s build something that lasts, something that’s rooted in trust, respect, and a shared understanding that life isn’t a Shakespearean tragedy. Let’s write our own story, one where we grow old together, where we face challenges hand in hand, where we choose life—together—every single day.

And if you’re ever tempted to call me your Juliet, just remember: I’m not looking for a love that ends in tragedy. I’m looking for a love that grows stronger with time, a love that endures. So let’s leave the poison and daggers to the pages of a book, and instead, focus on creating a life that’s worth living—together.