Your Unfinished Future

Your walk is over. What follows is only what the rooms noticed.

You leave here given back a hallway you were once called into, counted among the guests who stayed for a second cup, and with an old sentence finally allowed to end. You also go out released from an apology you had prepared.

The Domestic Weather Memory Era files your future under shelter. Expect rain indoors, and a voice calling you in before the thunder.

The Counterfactual Communications Boom keeps your line open. Somewhere a receiver is warm, and nobody in that kitchen has hung up.

Keep the ticket. None of these futures arrived, and one of them is now yours.