Sometime when, in the pale morning light, Hamlet took Ophelia by the hand. He looked deep into her light blue eyes and spoke thus.
“I am no longer indifferent honest, we shall take ourselves beyond the river to the diligent sea. Thus, shall we go, lest we spend too long among the dead?”
He dressed her for a journey to the day. Hand by hand they slipped past guarded doors of Elsinore. As they moved through the fields with ardent life to left and right Ophelia turned to him and smiled.
“There is rosemary, for remembrance. Pray you, Hamlet, remember. Oh, and these.
These are a wild pansy. They are for thoughts. Think this of me, my love, that I am the blossoming flower”
“Aye, thou ist my deep red tulip!”
They walked on, the burdens of state close forgotten. Abreast of a hill, a wearied traveller advised them of the nearing ocean.
“There,” he said, “is the sea. Beyond that sea, who knows what kingdom waits?”
Hamlet looked at Ophelia. No ghost behind his eyes, no crown, no poisoned cup, no grave waiting. And Ophelia, gathering the wild pansies to her breast, answered,
“To be, Hamlet. Simply to be.”
From there they continued towards the lapping waters. Behind them Elsinore grew smaller in the remembering.
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