Since I have had to keep my distance
from Hamlet, no event of particular interest has passed in which to cause me to
write. Except for today, when Hamlet gave me the greatest fright of my life!
Having
denied Hamlet love in all forms, except for deep within my heart, I have kept
myself busy sewing as a way to distract myself (although it does not do much
good). Whenever my thoughts wander to Hamlet and cannot find another subject to
dwell upon, I sew.
Today
was one of those days. I was working on a new dress when, suddenly, there was a
pounding on the door, startling me half to death! I immediately answered and
let in a raving Hamlet, so unlike the Hamlet I have grown to love.
His
clothes were disheveled and his skin was paler than his shirt. Before I could
even question him, Hamlet grabbed my wrist, then my arm, and pulled me towards
him. Uncomfortable, I attempted to pull away, but he did no harm. He simply
stared intricately at my face with wide eyes. Then, he let me go and left.
Unsure
what to make of the entire ordeal, and frightened out of my wits, I went to
find my father and told him everything. According to him, Hamlet’s actions are
“the very ecstasy of love.” I supposedly made Hamlet mad by following my
father’s orders and denying Hamlet’s access to me.
If
my father is accurate, then I am truly a fool! How could I have obeyed my
father’s orders without explaining to Hamlet the reason for my sudden distance?
I had planned to tell Hamlet the next night he visited my chamber, but he has
abstained since the month before last. I assumed he was simply occupied with his
grief over his father’s death and mother’s marriage. In addition, he had still
written me love letters, which let me know he still favors me.
I
kept them tucked under my pillow at night to remind me of him, although I did
not read them out of fear they would make me long for Hamlet more. My father
has them now to show the king.
It
does perplex me, though, why Hamlet has not returned at least once to my
chamber. Although he does still write me love letters, would he not wish for
the comfort of my love during such difficult times? I cannot come up with a
satisfactory reason. The puzzle has indeed given me much stress, even to the
point where my bleeding has not occurred for a month.
Nevertheless,
it does not seem plausible to me that Hamlet would act the way he did simply
because I have recently neglected him. It was too strange. Yes, he came to me
without a hat and his socks were soiled. Yes, he looked pale and his knees were
knocking together as if he were shaking. Yes, he grabbed me with such a hard
grip that I feared him.
Yet,
as I looked into Hamlet’s crystal, blue eyes, I did not see the eyes of a mad
man. When I gazed back into those eyes I love so, I saw reason, logic, and
contemplation, just as I have always seen. I did not by any means find senseless,
irrational, and foreign eyes observing me.
Perhaps
I cannot explain why Hamlet acted as he did today. However, I do know I
disagree with my father. He may feel confident enough in his deduction that he
could bring it to the king, but I do not. Hamlet has a plan underneath those
blonde curls I adore so. All I must do is discover it.
My
father beckons. I shall rush to his side for he has news of his meeting
with King Claudius and Queen Gertrude.
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