Migraine: Aura and Aftermath First, part of the world disappears. Something is missing from everything: the cat’s eye, ear, the left side of its face; two fingers from my right hand; the words from the end of a sentence. The absence is at first more absolute than whatever darkness I imagine the blind perceive. Perfect, without color or motion, nothing replaces what is gone. The senses do not contradict. My arm goes numb, my leg. Though I have felt the cold air of this disappearance before, each time the aura deceives me to believe reality itself has failed. I fear this more than what it warns because I cannot remember I will survive it. The other half of me will shine all night, defined…