Carpe Vitam
by Crystal Craig

Something was off.
I could sense it—
a shift in balance,
the wrongness of inner rhythms.

Like the subtle pressure of an impending storm,
the way the air grows heavier,
discordant, charged,
and angry.

They assured me with a pat on the head,
spilling numbers and dots
into their neat containers.
So smug in their own greatness
they even offered a guarantee:
whatever it was,
it wasn’t theirs to name.

“You’re dismissed,” said their smiles,
and I let their indifference
smother my intuition.

Days later, the storm arrived.
A flood torrenting against a cracked dam.
Mind over matter no longer a safe harbor,
my heart tore in acquiescence
to a body that would no longer compensate.

I split along unseen seams—
and somehow,
I survived.

Perhaps I was crafted to rupture,
a vessel too full of the unexpressed,
a dam straining to hold back floods.
Maybe this breaking was not a curse,
but a summons, an invitation.

Humbled.
Fractured.
Wholly grateful
for the gift of this awakening.

Every second, minute, hour,
when nothing is taken for granted—
senses expanding,
appreciation a daily mantra.

Intuition nudges again,
flickers of static,
signals I feel but cannot name.
A scent on the wind,
a second storm on the horizon.

But this time I face it knowing:
weather just happens.

And so I practice the balance
of holding on—
and letting go.

Carpe vitam.