No, I can’t find her,
not in the books she used to read—the fantasies, the dystopian mysteries, the crime records.
Not in the sleep she was once deprived of,
not in her bewildering dreams,
not in her go-to food,
not in the studies she used to ace.

She is lost, if only I knew where.
Nothing that intrigued her before can save her.
She searches in the shadows of her mind, only to hear a hindered silence.
Once a buoy of light, now hunts for her luminescence,
like a ship, astray from its route in the sea.
Will she be found again?
Will I ever be found again?