The Moroccan sunset is like a long goodbye with a lover. It drags on for an eternity, but feels like no time has past. As the sun sits in the sky, and the hour of departure approaches, the anticipation is immense, but there are no signs of leaving. The goodbye is pushed away. As if trying to avoid parting, the sun retains its bright yellow color and grand size, until the second before its bottom reaches the horizon. The moment finally arrives, and the passion is overwhelming. The sky tries to remain true to its color, fighting the growing darkness, and with each inch the sun drops, its light pink glow embraces the blue sky. As the sun drops quicker, the pink remains entwined in the blue, like locked fingers not willing to release. As the last bit of burning orange falls below the eye’s sight, the deepening pink and light blue stay grasped in one another, trying to fight the darkness, which forces their departure. As time refuses to quit, and the sun has become but a memory, the darkness begins to over take the sky, but the deepening pink remains. Even as the light blue finally disappears, and the first stars begin to shine, the pink lingers in protest, refusing to let go, denying the inevitable. But finally, as the weight of the world sets in, the pink submits to the night, slowly fading away, accepting that fate which she has been bestowed.