Shakespeare one shots

A letter

I imagine it is a challenge for our Hamlet to move from spoken word to written on a good day. On a day when he must write something with any meaning, though, the task of getting his thoughts cohesive on paper is on the verge of Herculean.

Inspired by Vouchsafe Me a Word by phoenixflight on Ao3. I, sadly, cannot cross out text.

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My dearest, Horatio

No.

My dear Horatio

Yes.

My dear Horatio,

I cannot begin to describe how much I miss your voice, touch, presence

No.

I cannot begin to describe how much I miss you. All in Elsinore is dull without your science jargon and ancient classics that I could listen to till we both grow white beards

No.

All in Elsinore is dull. I am content, though, knowing you are among your fellow scholars and without me

No.

I am content, though, knowing you are among your fellow scholars. My friend, I deeply admire your love of learning. You know not how listening to you speak of mathematical figures or chemical reactions has stirred my blood and inspired my soul

No.

You know not how listening to you speak of mathematical figures or chemical reactions has made me smile. Nor do you know how I long to be with you

No.

hold you

No.

kiss you

No.

love you

No.

see you

Yes.

Nor do you know how I long to see you.

I do wonder, is it the same at Wittenberg for you when I am not there, or does my absence not cause a stab of pain within you as yours does me? Oh God, Horatio, my dreams are rampant again, and all are taunting me with torrid visions of you and my own insatiable craving, and when I wake I can barely contain my sadness knowing of the empty space at my side where you should be. I envy the birds outside my window for their freedom, and empathize with them during any gale because it is how my soul feels without your calm deliverance of fact there to steady it. Even a library, in its consistency and purpose, pales in comparison to your intellect, and I adore it. I write in margins of poetry and philosophy, "Brilliant, but for a mind like yours?" My words jumble when I am alone and I am reduced to nothing but shapes and movements to convey meaning. You would find it all terribly amusing. Then, of course, I think of this outside the privacy of my chambers and am caught grinning like a fool remembering the way you laugh at my particularly suggestive jokes. The stone walls of the castle echo with my desire to join you, wherever you may roam, and I've come to realize any place might be a prison as this if it prevents us from being together, for there could be no worse torture in Hell for me than to exist in a world - live a life - without you in it.

No.

I do wonder, is it the same at Wittenberg in the winter, with no leaves on the trees?

Your faithful, devoted, loving, loyal

No, no, no, no.

Your friend,
Hamlet