Aphantasia

Greek, without imagination. What a beautiful word, A beautiful word for the condition that plagues my soul, As I lie awake at night As I try to dream As I cry. Daring myself to remember The faces of those I have lost, The way their eyes gleamed The way their voices whispered The way their arms embraced The way their scent lingered The way their dinners tasted - But alas it is gone I only know I am thinking of such things but I don’t have the visual imagery to go along side it. Is it not deserved Is there a way to get them back To have them like I did in that moment To have them restored It is hardest when you are grieving Knowing that others may always have their memories So do I, but I don’t think it is the same Instead I take to a camera I see the curve of their lips Their hair framing their face The way their eyes shone, I hold it close Taking in every detail like I did originally When it was captured I try to immortalise the image in my head But once I look away, its gone. Like it was never there at all, Never mine to look at in the first place Floating away Like a petal on a stream Or how a feather takes to the air I look back then At the picture before me My mind at ease once again with their features And then finally I can rest, Someday I may be ready to move on