Nothing

No future to fear.

Tourists of Prague III (1961) by Dorothea Tanning

Nothing can be done, so nothing is ever done. Everything stretches on forever, dangling over the calendar, a hanging question mark, a state of eternal suspense. We can’t go anywhere so we circle our nowhere instead. I’ll meet you on the couch, on the roof, in the garden, back in bed, under the stairs, und…