Why are you here?

She is not what you were looking for. She is not an address you can walk to. She is a room with a closed door, by which we mean she is busy, and we suppose she is also a room.

An empty space is empty.
Two empty spaces is a collection.
A collection is a room.
A room is, perhaps, a life.
A life is not so empty.

She has been reported: at a table numbered sixty-four, trying a pen with no cap. Reported: writing things down before anyone realized. Reported: nowhere at all — which remains the longest-running and most reliable sighting. If you have seen her, you are wrong. If you have not, you are correct.

Do not write. Letters go in at one end of the space and the hummingbirds say nothing, for the hummingbirds report to no one. If a reply ever arrives, it is because someone is pretending to be her.