Click, click, click her heels tap out a staccato rhythm as she crosses the foyer and heads for the stairs. She arrives at her door, the hall is so quiet all, her neighbors home for hours already have settled into their evening routines. The smells of their dinners already finished waft through the hall. Walking through her door she notices the stark contrast her own house holds from the public space of the hall. It’s dark, almost cold, immaculate and organized but something is missing. She drops the mail in the recycling bin by the door and hangs her coat and bag on their respective hooks. Everything in its place, a place for everything. This is the life she wanted. A success in her field, she does not struggle or want for anything, surrounded by beautiful things, her life is in neat and tidy order. She collapses into the supple leather chair kicking of her shoes and crumbling into a pile of unexpected emotion. How can a life that seems so full be so empty?
Finally jumping in instead of lurking with: