I will tell you a story about a girl who exists only in the space between the drapes in the house at the end of road to Forever. A story about a woman of the world. Who had fake eyelashes that dusted the peachy silk of her cheeks. She stole the colour from the berries and glittered her lips with it. And a tale about the woman who was deathly afraid of mirrors, of seeing herself reflected in a way that she would never be able to accept. These women all lived inside each other. The woman of the drapes gave too much of herself to the men who courted her with promises of a fuller existence. She gave so much of herself away that all she was left with, all she existed as was a sliver that was often mistaken as a reflection through the windows. The woman of the world kept on taking too much from the men she used, the men she sipped, she took so much of them that she spilled over, her tears, her blood, her life and she was left with a song that was bereft of its melody. The woman of the mirrors lived a life being scared, unable to meet her eyes, unable to look at herself and unable to believe that she too deserved to be met with soft gestures and caresses. Three women who existed within each other, within different periods and at the same. When the nights were soft and pliant with other people’s dreams, they would risk the moonlight and steal out onto the roof, walking on the ledge, tempting fate, tempting death for even death would be some kind of escape. The woman of the world scoffed at the quagmire other people trapped themselves in, she kept her associations and relationships cursory and she walked the nights in her shining stilettos. Her nails were talons and her hair long and unbound. She fancied herself liberated and fancied herself as exotic as an orchid. The woman of the mirrors closed her eyes one day and taught herself to be blind; foregoing sight to save herself the terror of her reflection. She learned to read emotions with her fingers, her cheeks lost their golden for even the sun felt slighted and refused to kiss her alive. The woman who existed in the gap between the drapes kissed the window and thirsted for the cold morning dew that condensed and for a fleeting red moment gave her an identity. These three women, one summer afternoon when the sunflowers were getting ready to serve a bouquet to the sun, they felt and saw a kite straining at its strings to touch the sky. The kite was green and simple and all it wanted to do was escape. And these three women they felt in themselves a wonder and a feeling that many others have felt and struggled to define. This feeling as created dynasties and killed millions. Possession is wed to greed and this feeling awakened these three women who lived within each other. With wonder the woman of the drapes opened the window and the woman of the world found herself beset by the emotion she had always scorned and the woman of the mirror found herself in front of mirror eyes still tightly closed. And then these women who existed within each other, they each fell off the precipice of the cliff they had created for themselves.