le dix-huitième

She pushes on, through, against;
Resisting everything around her.
All that has been, but none that will be.

The difference is as blurred as the shapes on the horizon.
On the highway in her mind it is impossible to tell;
Wrong from right, right from left.

There is nothing left.

But nothing is what she looks for.
Her whole life surrounded by things which no longer exist;
Things she could never understand.

Every thing is gone, and when all is gone
Nothing remains.
She remains.

She who was never anything; someone else’s everything.
Just the empty space left to its own devices.
Devices which lead her on her search.

A search, not to find everything,
Because everything means nothing to her;
Nothing is her everything.