I do notice the little things.

Like how it was silent throughout the shoot, how he followed directions to the "t", how he was willing to do anything I asked, how he was worried when he accidently hit my head at the beginning of the shoot, how he didn't smile when he positioned himself. I didn't let myself worry, and I'm still not worried.

Because I do notice the little things.

How his breathing pattern changed when I touched the tattoo pen to his skin, how his body tensed in fear of hitting me again, how he relaxed when he thought I wasn't looking, how his heat radiated from his chest, his thoughtfulness for the photographs in asking for details of minor things like his glasses or his necklace.

I notice the little things; his heartbeat under my palm as I tried to erase the ink, the small script of St. Christopher hanging from his neck, the scent of his cologne, the elated feeling picking ten shots out of a hundred.

I notice the small things, like the sparks in his eyes when I told him what the symbols meant, the way he fixed his collar on his shirt, the broadness of his shoulders as he walked away, the glimpse of someone who loves deeply, the way the room was in a sleep-like state after he left.

I notice the small things: the power he brings when he enters a room, the safety he ensures when he looks at you, the tenderness of a man who knows what's important.

I notice the small things.

The deep easy pattern of my own breathing after he left, the regret I felt at packing up the lights, the disquiet that started to settle in after Costello said something and he didn't text me back.

I do notice the little things: his friendship, his willingness, his warmth, his consideration. To be honest, without him as my friend, I don't know what I'd do...