She looked straight into my non-existence, at the spot where there is something like a needle-prick,...

She looked straight into my non-existence, at the spot where there is something like a needle-prick, but so deep that one could throw all one’s belongings into it, one’s memory and one’s doubts, one’s demands and one’s subterfuges - yes, all one’s life - and there would still be nothing at all there.

- from “Straw” by Leena Krohn