Ophelia 1.0

Everyone is looking for me at Elsinore Castle, but tonight I have decided not to go back, to no longer hear his voice, those despicable words about me, the denial of our love, the contempt in his mad eyes.

Because Hamlet is the madman, not me, his little Ophelia as everyone says.

Perhaps he did it to save me, perhaps not to be loved, he who loves no one, perhaps he wants more from me than the letters, the phrases, the looks, the kisses never given.

This morning in my rooms I opened the trunks of my trousseau with Gertrude, I took out all my most beautiful clothes and I decided to wear them only one day, I have nothing more to wait for. Then my mother's jewels: corals, pearls, amethysts, grenades, crystals ... I drew with both hands in those precious caskets closed for some time.

I try to take away the most beautiful things and everything that I will miss to make me more sensual I will take from nature: flowers, leaves, garlands, berries ... Pass my life through the branches of this forest, bride child or young maid, sweet courtesan o sad siren in search of her lost king, the laces that tear as I run at breakneck speed, the silk that gets dirty as I climb the trees or I stretch out in their shade to weave wreaths of myrtle with small buttercups and fragrant wild roses.

A faint song comes out of my mouth, it tells of that love now lost, of that denied heart, and these flowers, dedicated to him, I want to raise them on the highest branch, maybe he sees them beyond the fog and comes to look for me ... little effort, but everything collapses around me and the river already laps the lace and laces of my skirt.

I do not resist the foamy waves, I abandon myself to the rushing current, releasing my song like a siren returning to the origins of the abyss, to appease my wounded heart that no one wanted to love. Three knights of the future will bring me back to life, anachronistic and courageous, who will revive my wild races and my mad singing in a series of rarefied shots after painters and writers have tried for centuries to describe my tormented soul without fully succeeding ...