In the midst of the continual, the habitual. You trudge to Work, grind at your French, struggle to stay up with your writing, and dream of traveling far away. but it happened. Just like a curtain opening before a cliff. Just like a plate of your favorite food that suddenly you don't recognize. . Just like a navy black night that never wakes up and screeching white day that never ends.
Finding myself standing in a hallway, walking down a street with no where really to be. Despite the triumphant efforts that have sustained you for decades, you've lost the meaning of your life. An old hand at change, you figure that you'll wait it out, like pain, like lost love. But it's eating you alive.
You've thrown away everything, torn up your apartment and renewed your vows to a husband who is a dear dear friend. But it just won't let you go. It want you to kneel down, it wants to enslave you. You have more than enough to pay as ransom, but it only wants your whole life.
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You've captured a fabulous sense of desperate energy here. This one hovers just this side of madness. Excellent internal monologue for a character. Terrific stuff!
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