To me, it feels like a game of chess. The subtleties accumulate until they become overwhelming, yet each one can still be dismissed as business as usual. Is it all in my imagination? Am I overanalyzing, interpreting too much, seeing intention where there is none?

I can even trace the beginning of this latest, strong flare. I have a hunch, though nothing conclusive. A new mission statement, perhaps. When the other side is as formidable as it is idealized, I find it difficult to dismiss the possibility of meticulous planning on their part.

If so, perhaps they still aren’t certain the feeling is mutual. Or perhaps they have always known the fascination has been there but require complete surrender before I can finally breathe a sigh of relief. It may simply be that success depends on too many things going right, too many pieces falling into place before one makes a decisive move.

The lack of clarity about whether this is mutual has brought on long, sleepless nights, and they take their toll. Yet the energy to keep dreaming is fueled by the sheer enormity of the dream itself. Perhaps, too, by a quiet sense of its inevitability.

A single nod, as decisive as the circumstances allow, would be an extraordinary act of mercy. It wouldn’t end the mystery, but it would quiet the storm. I appeal to your grace: raise the temperature just a notch. Let the warmth be unmistakable. It would be enough to put my heart at ease.