We ask the universe to open a door.
Then lean our whole weight against it.
We try the handle.
Push a little harder.
Read the stillness as a lock.
We come back to it each morning.
Shoulder to the wood. Nothing gives.
A closed door makes waiting feel personal.
As though more effort should change its mind.
A door that opened now would drop us straight on the floor.
Maybe it's time to stop trying to force our way in.
And just wait for the door to open.
