Your Unfinished Future

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

You leave here declining something without ever raising your voice, already expected somewhere eleven years ahead, and released from an apology you had prepared. You also go out advised in advance by someone who writes like you and with one Thursday already rearranged.

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

The Civic Time Expansion Era expects you back. It is still holding a day with your name on it and no year to put it in.

The doors lock behind you. The exhibits continue without an audience, as they have for years.