for thoughts and other useless things

the doors of the train close as she stands facing them from the platform. if she presses the rewind button and puts in the effort to run next time she could make it through.

she speculates. runs through all the possibilities in her mind. should she take it back? 

but for some reason, unlike all the other instances, this time it isn’t worth it.

so she walks away from the edge of the platform to find a seat, ready for the consequences. the station is empty except for the man carrying a mop and a bucket up the stairs. and then she’s left alone.

she checks the time and looks around to find the screen to tell her how long the wait is until the next train comes.

indefinite.

her eyebrows crease, and she gently spreads her hands across the surface of the rewind button, caressing it and tempting herself to push it with the tinyest amount of force.

“unlimited uses,” it says in small printed writing right in the centre. “you just have to mean it.”