She endures.

A man worn down by time, 
a man who does not even expect death . . . 
a man who has learned to express thanks
for the days' modest alms:
sleep, routine, the taste of water . . . 
a man who is aware that the present
is both future and oblivion,
a man who has betrayed
and has been betrayed . . .

He knows better than to look at it closely . . .
that wretchedness is his duty,
but he accepts humbly
this felicity, this glimmer.

Perhaps in death when the dust
is dust, we will be forever
this undecipherable root . . .

-Jorge Luis Borges,
passages from "Someone" found in Poems of the Night