button

I feel I have more to say; but what that say might be: I do not know.

I open up Word and start to type. I transcribe my actions hoping that something will just come.

Nothing comes.

…

I walked by a button on the hallway floor, right by the bank of four elevators. I wondered if someone will look for it later. Nobody looks for buttons, except for right by their feet and if the button isn’t there, then the button is given up for lost.

I walked back to the button and picked it up. I wondered why I’m saving a button of unknown origin. I wondered if it is from a man’s clothing or a woman’s. I hope that the button brings me luck.

I don’t know how magic buttons work. Are all buttons magic? Most likely no button is magic.

I looked at the button to see if it is magic or not.

I could not tell.

I wondered when I would have something to type, something that would fill that need to say something. I thought about the button story. I then thought that the button story doesn’t so it for me. I thought that having people read this post is a mean trick because nothing will be said here today.

I wondered about when something would be said because a lot of what could be said will not be said.

…

I start to think about things and when I start to think about something new, the signal that my feet have been sending to my brain finally makes it through. My feet are telling me that they are cold. I think, “Sorry feet, but there is nothing I can do for you.”