Red Boots Trois

the lost button

She notices the button beside the boots only after she has already stepped past it.

It is perfectly round, beige, and patient.

For a moment she wonders how long it has been there.

Buttons are strange things.
They exist only to keep something together.

A coat.
A sleeve.
A small moment of warmth against the cold.

Without the coat they become oddly independent.
Free, perhaps.
Or simply misplaced.

She crouches slightly and studies it.

Cities must be full of these small separations.

Buttons from coats.
Gloves from hands.
Keys from pockets.

Perhaps that is why certain streets feel unfinished.

They are still waiting for the objects
that remember how the story was supposed to go.

The red boots step around the button carefully.

Just in case it is still trying to find its way home.

Nekonoir

Author’s Note: The Red Boots stories begin with small moments. A button on the pavement. A puddle reflecting the sky. A piece of gum, a fallen leaf, a quiet corner of the sky. These stories follow the places where attention pauses. Because sometimes the smallest things are simply waiting for someone to notice them.

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