I'll have you know that I've just spent a considerable amount of time searching for x. I've looked in all of the places that x might plausibly reside, and even in some places where I assumed x would never be caught dead, but I've come up empty-handed.
I checked to see if x was under the bed, perhaps hidden among old school notes and forgotten art projects and lonely orphan socks. I scoured the closet, checking in every pocket of every innumerable pair of jeans, which, trust me, is no mean feat. I screened for x in every drawer of every dresser in every room, but it was all to no avail.
I proceeded to flip through all of the books that have stubbornly accumulated by the side of my bed, all of those novels unread and read and reread. Thousands upon thousands of dog-eared pages were turned once again, the worn out words flying by to form nonsensical stop-motion sentences, but it was all for naught. In all of those tens of thousands of pages, the x that I was looking for was nowhere to be