The sun has gone down, taking with it my last hope of winning.
Winning a game I no longer even want to play.
Games are always interesting up to the point I start losing or I start feeling uncomfortable.
It is early evening. I can feel the wind on my shoulders and the words still floating in the air.
"Where do words go?"
"?"
"I mean, when you talk.....where do the words go? Do they fly somewhere magic? Or hide somewhere?"
"NO. I think they vanish."
"You're boring then."