Elimane sank into the depths of his Night. The ease of his farewell to the sun fascinates me. The willing embrace of his shadow fascinates me. The mystery of his destination haunts me. I don’t know why he stopped speaking when he had so much left to say. But mainly, it pains me that I can’t do the same. Encountering someone who’s gone silent, truly silent, invariably prompts reflection about the meaning—the necessity—of your own words, as you suddenly wonder whether it’s all just worthless babbling, linguistic sludge.
