The Empty Space in My Bed

Never was there a story of more woe...

Than this of Cinthia and I. Blessed be the one who's bed she sleeps in. T'was but only a short time I had her with me. I can  still smell the sweet aroma of her majestic hair that had lain upon my very pillow. Apricots. Fresh as the dickens. Oh glorious Cinthia! The love I bear thee can afford thee no better term than this: thou art a goddess! How I yearn for your return, or my arrival to where ever you may be. There is a certain solemnity that airs every crevice of the manor. In contrast with how life once was when Cinthia lived about my quarters, I receive no sense of meaningful life direction. Without her I am forever lost, a wanderer, a vagabond, a nomad. I have no home. Two roads diverged into the woods, and I didn't take either of them.  My life is an everlasting abyss that only sinks in deeper into the depths of tragedy and affliction. Alas, I am fortune's fool. Oh dear, sweet Cinthia, if the gods themselves have within them slight traces of a merciful heart, they will find a way for us to be together. Until then, sweet waif, I'll be dreaming of you.
                              Return to my bed.
                                     -A.