I am sitting here. At my mother's desk. Looking through the pale sheer curtains, straining to see what lies beyond my faded world. I try to see beyond what is right in front of me, the blatant truth. That everything I will ever want will forever be just beyond the berth of my reach. My left hand smoothes my forehead, the premature wrinkles wrought by stress.

I try to think beyond the sheers that curtain and withhold the beauty of what lies beyond. I manage an empty laugh. I laugh at the irony. The symbolic representation of those feeble curtains. The denied beauty of truth. A beauty I fear I will never know. Resignation rests in my stomach like a purring feline, comfortable and determined to stay at its leisure. Thinking so, I feel betrayed.

Must I accept just this too small realm of monotony? Is this it? Is this some kind of arcane punishment that I should never know what lies beyond my sight, blocked- Barred rather- by thin gossamer?

And why must I be punished? Am I not strong enough to bear witness to the beauty of truth? Am I not worthy enough? I who have been through a living , breathing hell and back without a single external marking, but thousands of internal wounds that leave me alone and afraid so very often?

I only covet one thing.
I will never have it, for it has been denied to me.
I covet the truth.

The heater in my humble abode begins to heave warmed air in the room I am in; funny, I hardly noticed the chill until now. The curtains quiver with it, my pulse quickens. I can feel it. The excitement of knowing that which I have yearned for like an addict. I catch a glimpse of light, the sun perhaps?

The power dies and with it my hope.

The curtains close whilst I lose my stoic mask, a tear takes its place. I am dazed and close my eyes.

I am reminded of one who sought a truth greater than that of our mutual Heavenly Father. Her name? Eve. And the two of us are punished eternally. Through out the sands of time.

But that's how it is for us isn't it?

Always tempted by something more whether it is the knowledge of a god, the right to vote, or even the ability to see beyond the societal gossamer that I know too well.

It's how we are linked, Eve and I, and others of our sex. An eternal chain that links each of us, we are not separate.

I smirk, open my eyes anew and climb the oaken desk strewn with the worries of my mother, acknowledge our mutual links and forgive her. I climb past them and grip the thin gossamer, for that is all it will ever be a feeble prison. I push it aside.

I laugh as I soak in the light of the sun, basking in it like a reptile of the desert.

I smile. I am content.