There are moments when the heart grows tired of carrying its own questions. You ask, you wait, you explain yourself carefully, you lower your expectations, then raise them again in secret. Still, something comes back incomplete. Not because your need is too large, but because what you are asking for may not belong to the hands you are offering it to. This is one of the hardest griefs to name. Not rejection. Not failure. Something quieter. The ache of standing at the wrong door for too long, knocking with sincerity, and wondering why it still does not open.
