I recently rediscovered Romeo and Juliet in my Shakespeare class (I know. I don’t know why I did that to myself), and upon a second, more mature reading, I noticed how little Romeo and Juliet actually interact. Did Romeo just shower her with immense positivity all at once? He spends the beginning of the play confessing his heartbreak over Rosaline, and just like that, “Juliet is the sun” as he sneaks onto her balcony. They met once at a party. If a man showed up to my house after one party, I’d consider that a little obsessive. Wouldn’t you? Is this fairytale we see as the pinnacle of romance actually an example of toxic infatuation?
In a modern context, Romeo might be accused of love-bombing Juliet—after all, she was a girl he barely knew. Today, we’re advised to steer clear of these grand pronouncements of love. Someone who comes on too strong, too fast, is regarded as “bad news” in an era where red flags are watched for like hawks. Friends and social media teach us to be on the lookout for insincerity, scrolling through text messages for signs of deception.
Unfortunately for most of us, this immediate show of affection lowers our guard for no good reason. From experience, relationships are doomed from the first “I love you”—especially if it’s on the first date. Signs of love-bombing can range from over-the-top gift-giving to compliments like “I like everything about you” or “You’re perfect.” The term has become shorthand for a partner who gives too much too soon. Real affection comes from a place of sincerity, not from overwhelming someone to get a response.
If I like someone, I’m often quick to say it in both romantic and platonic settings. Yet I’ve also met men, as many of us have, who convinced me I held their universe in my hands—only, of course, to find out I didn’t. Honestly, it’s what made the romance all the more compelling: the way I allowed a virtual stranger to unravel me. They have a dizzying effect on my conscience. The angel on my left gives way to the devil on my right.
But isn’t that what makes romance intoxicating? The way our own enthusiasm can betray or pleasantly surprise us? Maybe I want to be Juliet. Just please don’t show up on my balcony, Romeo.
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