I am waiting for an answer that will not come.

The decision is not yours to make. The result is not in. The reply has not come. And you are caught in the space between, unable to move forward, unwilling to move on, refreshing a life that will not load.

The hard part is not only the not-knowing. It is that you have quietly put your real life on hold until the answer arrives, as if the waiting does not count as living.

It counts. The answer, when it comes, will meet a version of you that either kept living or stopped. We would rather it met the one who kept living, and there is a way to be that person while you wait.