Zero

A vagrant exiled on the foreign soil of her own memories: 

A carpet of poppies by Klimt reproduced on the wall of Room 305 of the Hotel California, Málaga.

The skeleton of an aqueduct by night.

An open-air cinema by a storm-beaten Mediterranean beach. 

Winter light, tunnels, transit, vanishing points. 

Do all the borders crossed cancel us out, reducing us to zero?