When I first saw her, I didn't think much of her. I was at a recital. Mostly, I was there to give the parents and other such observers an opportunity to see what little Johnny or Janey could turn into with some practice. I was there so it wouldn't be a wasted trip for them, but I didn't mind. I love performing.

Of course, I was sober for this. It wouldn't do to pass out in front of people, or start singing impromptu. And since I wasn't inebriated, that meant having visions.

The visions have been around for as long as I can remember, most days. Then, most days, I normally can't remember where I live either. I think they started after my Father left us. At any rate, since some point (traumatic point the shrinks say) I could see things, see different people. Ghosts. Spirits. Things that have yet to be, or have been, or would never be. I was never quite certain on what they meant, if anything. Mostly, they were a jumble of images that didn't add up, a crazy quilt of insanity, knitted together by my damned head.

I had seen her only briefly while I was on stage. Just some lower class person here to see a brother or sister. It was after the recital, when families were collecting their own. I had given a brilliant performance (as always), and was milling sociably through the crowd, accepting praise. I bumped into her then, and turned to apologize. It was her eyes that caught me, first blue, then flickered to green and violet. I cursed aloud then, and she stepped back in surprise, but the visions had caught me again, when I wasn't expecting it. Much like relatives dropping in for a visit...and their dog just piddled on the rug.

Her eyes did catch me though, and keep me looking, though by all rights I should have wrenched my eyes away from her. They were...so kind. So loving. The rest of her changed in microseconds, flipping from one face to another, but the eyes were the same. Differently colored at points, but they were all the same expression of tenderness. I had never seen such loveliness before in my life. It was like looking into another person's soul, and finding what one expected there...a perfect being, something to be worshipped like (Father) God.

I shook my head, and suddenly everything cleared. I caught the trail end of one of those inane questions like 'are you alright', and just waved the inquisitor away. What I saw before me was those same eyes that had entranced me so attached to a rather homely looking girl, that was one of the 'punks' you read so much about in the news. Her hair was a shock of electric blue, and her clothes clung too tight (and clashed horribly with one another, except the black jacket) to her rather pudgy frame. I said what came to mind, "Good Lord!"

The girl, that lovely slip of a girl, reeled back wounded by my expression and vehemenance on the matter, and slapped me. I never said it was an auspicious start.

I threw myself down on my knees, "Fair lady! I beg your forgiveness!" At that, everyone looked on at me as if I was insane, her included. "I love you!" I cried impulsively. "Marry me!"

At that, she giggled, and relaxed. It was lovely. Contrite as you please, she answered, "Only if you get up off your knees, dear."

Since then, we hit it off wonderfully. She was the most exquisite and sensitive creature to ever grace this Earth. Her name was Juliana, though I called her Juliet after that play, and we fell madly in love. She had fallen into the 'punk' atmosphere because one needed to blend in to survive in the lower classes. I moved out of my house, and into an apartment on the lower side of town, much to Mother's shock and disapproval. I dyed my hair, and wore the clothes of the poor people, the leathers and tight shirts, with loud colors and metal spikes. I did whatever my Juliet wished; I would have given her the stars had she asked for them. We did, eventually, plan to marry. We shared kisses and held hands. I wrote song after song for her, and she wrote poems for me that I treasure to this day. For her, I gave up the laundanum, and the heroin. I even cut my drinking down, and started to learn to deal with my delusions. It was hard, but she was worth it.

It all ended horribly and miserably, you know. That's what happens. That's why the two people involved in these affairs are called 'star-crossed'. It was over an argument about me getting a job, like the poor folk, of all the silly things. She didn't want me to, and I wanted to. She wanted me to protect my hands, and I said I didn't care. She called me a selfish bastard, and I hit her.

I can still see that moment.

She falls, and I'm too late to catch her. Even some part of me thinks, "Good. She hurt me; she deserves it." I hear a loud crack as her head hits the coffee table, and suddenly, my heart stops. I rush to her side, but it's too late. I cradle her head, and my hand comes back bloody. I scream.

And that's about all I remember. Everything's rather a blur after that, but...that's all I care to remember. I don't even care to remember that, but I can't forget it. A slap started this relationship...and a slap ended it. Forever.

I hate that word, don't you? Forever. For-Ever. For Ever.

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