Pursed.

It has always been strange to me how silence finds its way to conversations, often to the most intellectual and fun ones. Suddenly there is not a thing to talk about. Words seem awkward to say. And no matter how spontaneous and engaging the exchange of thoughts has been, or was, it becomes empty. How it ends forms most of the memory, and everything nice shrinks itself into a tiny part. The part used to justify the whole conversation; that which convinces that the conversation was worth the time.

Empty conversations seem to make an impact.