It is always the small things.

It’s always the small things.

There’s always something about another person that draws you in. Perhaps his hair, his height and built, the way he smiles, the way his eyebrows furrow ever so quickly, the way he tucks his hands in the pockets of his jeans…it’s always the little things, the smallest of gestures.

It’s the way he would readjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose. I stare at him, trying to pinpoint exactly why I like him the most when he does just that. Is it because of his long fingers, or the curve of the glasses that makes me stare…is it the way he closes his eyes just for a fleeting moment when he does so, or the way his hands would gracefully fall back to his side right after it’s done?

I don’t know. I’m not sure.

Or maybe it’s the way he walks, so differently from everybody else, that amidst a crowd of people surrounding him, with just one look, my eyes can effortlessly find him. When he walks he doesn’t stand too straight—there’s a slight curve on his back as if he’s tired and is about to slouch down the hallway. His footsteps are slow when he’s alone, with a particular beat that my ears have gotten used to listening to. He can be quick with his feet, especially when he’s late for a particular class or when he’s on fast break in basketball, but from how I see it, he prefers to take things slow.

It’s always the simplest of expressions, the tiniest bits of information that sends a ripple through a person and pierces through the soul. It is always those things—the plainest, most uncomplicated things about him—that I love the most.

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