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Mark

The first time he dyed his hair, he took me with him.
The first tattoo he got, I was there with him.
The first piercing he did on his own, I experienced it with him.
He took me to everything that created a new memory for him and I loved that fact, I loved the fact that he thought about me enough to take me places and create memories. And Unfortunately I remember every single one.

One memory that I clearly remember was where I watched him one morning from my comfortable position on his couch, he was getting ready for his skin to be inked yet again. I remember watching him pull on a clean shirt and ruffle his soft hair up into a presentable state before looking dead into my tired brown eyes and whispering a 'good morning'. We ate breakfast together in silence, he watched me put on a white shirt and tie my shoes before we left his apartment and walked down to the tattoo parlor. The walk was lovely, the sky was just beginning to be painted by the rising sun and the air was crisp yet warming as the streets were just beginning to come to life. In other words, it was early and we were comfortable in each-others company. We had been friends for a long while now, he was getting his fourth tattoo and I had also been there for his first.

He was seated in the 'chair of pain and beauty' as we named it, I was seated next to the window with my eyes trained on the tattoo artist who's name was Johnathan. Seán had decided to get a beautiful tattoo of two hands intertwined, one was obviously his and the other was a mystery to me. He said that I wasn't aloud to know who's hand it was until it was all finished, I was reluctant but accepted his mystery.

When Johnathan had finished inking his pale skin he let me look at the names on the wrists of the hands. One read 'Seán' and the other was labled 'Mark'. Both in perfect cursive writing. I swear my eyes teared up and I think his did too for a little bit, after that emotional moment we left the shop with a new feeling that was shared between us.

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