It comes quietly,
like warmth beneath the skin,
before you realize
your whole inside is burning.

You think more clearly
and more foolishly at once.
Everything matters.
Everything is dangerous.

A voice can tip a day.
A glance can save a week.
An absence can hurt
like a real illness.

It is not weakness.
It is the body saying:
“Something here means everything.”

And when the fever finally breaks,
you are not the same.
Either you are more healed
or more open
than before.

That is the price
of having been alive.