When you run out of words to say. You’ve spoken every phrase, debated every issue. The syntax, the lexicons, the rhetorical figures that have amalgamated, multiplied and eventually overwhelmed the muscles in your vocal chords are now expelled like devious school children.
There they hang, between the creases of your lips and the outside world. Resting gently on the curve of a breath, sliding down until they are caught up in the slip stream of speech, carried like debris into an ear canal, their ear canal, waiting to be heard.
When you run out of words to say, silence reverberates and speaks to the brain.