The little girl who couldn’t sleep without me is nowhere to be found. I’ve walked this city for days, searching the ash-littered streets and alleys, the ruins left by the bombers and rockets and tanks, talking to people who pass my way. Always I ask the same question, and always I get the wrong answer. I’m thirsty and hungry without our tea and cookies. My feet hurt, but not the way my heart does. And I’ve learned something very hard and sharp that makes me hurt all over: I can’t sleep without her.