I slept late today, my friend. You ought to be thankful, if you had any need to be thankful, that you have no need. In fact, you seem to be all need. You are the need without needs! At any rate, you need no sleep, and I must rest. I suspect that is why your silence is so calming for me. You are what death is most probably about to be. It is a kind of comfort. No reward. No punishment. Simple lack.
But my body still longs for more rest, though I have given it all possible hours of the night, and now soon the day, to recuperate. I feel as if you and I grow closer, the more I sleep. There are dreams, of course, that remind one that they are alive, but most nights pass without any recollection on my part that there was anything but a decided blackness to my night. You were there.
I have nothing more to add today.