You built walls so thick that even the right people can't find a door. And you wonder why love doesn't arrive.
You want connection but you've made yourself architecturally impossible to reach. The walls worked. That's the problem.
You were hurt once. So you built a wall.
You were hurt again. So you added a second one.
By the third time the walls were so thick that nothing got through.
Not the pain. But not the love either.
You felt safe. You also felt empty.
The fortress works exactly as designed.
It keeps everything out. Including the things you need most.
You sit inside alone and wonder why nobody comes.
They try. You just can't hear the knocking through the concrete.
Someone offered love and you inspected it for weapons.
Someone offered vulnerability and you searched it for traps.
You've turned every gift into a threat assessment.
That kept you alive. It also kept you alone.
The walls don't know the difference between danger and love.
They block both with equal efficiency.
You built them in an emergency. The emergency ended years ago.
But the walls remained because demolition feels more dangerous than isolation.
What if someone gets in and does the same thing?
What if the walls come down and the pain comes back?
The walls worked. Nothing gets in. That includes everything you've been praying for.