Hold to confirm
Eleven takes on a button you have to mean.
A fill sweeps across while you hold, and pulls back when you let go.
Press and hold
The familiar pattern, done carefully: what you see and what happens never drift apart, and changing your mind is instant.
The trash icon leaves the button, takes the file away, and comes back.
Hold, and watch where the bin goes
The icon stops being decoration and does the deleting.
The picture turns to dust as you hold, and gathers back if you let go.
Hold, and watch it come apart
Deleting you can watch, and undo halfway.
The picture burns away from the bottom up as you hold.
Hold, and watch it burn away
Making the point of no return feel like one.
The picture is fed through a slot and comes out in strips.
Hold, and feed it through
A physical metaphor for a digital action.
The picture folds in half, then again, and drops away.
Hold, and fold it away
Putting something away, rather than destroying it.
Past a point, the button commits, and letting go confirms.
Hold past the point of no return, then let go
A hold with a moment of decision in it.
The fill grows from wherever you pressed.
Press anywhere on the button and hold
The button answers your touch, not a fixed edge.
The button squeezes, darkens and trembles as you hold.
Press and hold, and feel it build
The end feels like a release of pressure.
It deletes at once, then gives you a moment to take it back.
Hold to delete, then tap before the red runs out
Acting first and leaving a way back, instead of asking twice.
The hold gets shorter as you use it, and longer when you hesitate.
Hold for 2.0s, quicker each time you finish
A safeguard that learns how sure you are.