Eulogy for my Afterimage

A convergent spiral like people putting their hands in the center and bending their limbs. It’s both self-preservation and self-destruction, this compression into a workable package, but that is all of life. Now it's just one color —overcast color. That’s the color of my afterimage: light grey. There’s a lamppost in it where my heart should be. Its off, but not in a sad way, okay? My afterimage is made of all that we saw out of the corner of our eye —struck us like a half-second action shot and left us with its negative burned in the retina. Like a circle, all the memories are of one but ten thousand things. One memory, light grey, but light grey also means rustling pine needles filling the frame and cold air smell and wondering if you’ll run into anyone you love, okay? Okay? This is a eulogy for my afterimage, whom I loved, light-grey. I weep but also watch it join the constellations of its kin on my retina. It paints my world after death and cups the line of your chin with a pale red paint stroke of overwhelming admiration and affection. I always watched, mesmerized, third party to the love inside me felt for you. So strong, it pins me to the ground— this is the legacy of my afterimage, and the letter I send to the afterlife only says thank you.