Carla, After the Words

Carla went still beside the chair,
Warm noise moved through drink and glass.
Yet something deeper caught her there,
And held her long enough to last.

Four uneven words across a hand,
No polished quote, no practiced art.
Still, they struck hard with blunt command,
Pressed straight through her guarded heart.

“See with all eyes.” She read them twice.
The room grew small around her stare.
As if one phrase could break the ice
That years of living layered there.

She thought of people missed too fast,
The tired friend, the distant son.
A looks she skimmed, pain she passed,
The quiet battles never done.

No choir sang. No thunder spoke.
A marker bled on human skin.
Yet something old in Carla broke,
So something larger could begin.

Now every stranger holds more weight,
Each face suggests a hidden sea.
That moment did not alter fate,
It altered how she chose to see.