Blog Post Number 16: Hamlet Post 4

I have found such an odd thing today: a diary entry about myself. "He is dead and gone, lady", that is what he said to me (4.2.73). My father is gone, killed by Hamlet, my love. It states "For Hamlet, as for Hamlet, Denmark has become a prison, and she is all alone at Elsinore" (Seng 218). This is truer than anything I've ever heard. We are lost; I am lost. "Something is rotten in the state of Denmark" (1.4.90). I have lost my father, someone who I have always listened too. To be truthful, I am lost without him. My brother and father warned me of "[My] mind's purity and [my] childlike trust" (Seng 220). They believed me to be innocent, Hamlet did as well. I was innocent, the world has taken that away from me.

I, like others, was "concerned to salvage [my] innocence" but I have forgotten that "Hamlet has sullied it" (Seng 220). It is no longer a part of me any longer. I do not wish to simply be thought of as someone others would wish "[I] shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife" or anything of the type (4.5.90). Hamlet was filled "only with thoughts of avenging his father's death" (Seng 223). He has taught me of not only true hatred, but of distrust. He has spoken to me as if he has hardly known me, as if he has hardly known himself. I have nowhere else to turn. I wish to sleep, to forget everything amongst "flowers" just as a corpse (4.5.38). Without worry, without any thoughts of distrust, I wish to dream. "There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies, that's for thought" (4.5.76). Madness rings in the air and trust has left.