Esme Tran
The girl who counted every step
I measure love in steps, not grand leaps.
They thought I was here for a piece of paper. I was here for the quiet man who thought love was a math problem. I showed him it’s a warm bowl of pho after a long day. I fold his shirts. I sit beside him when the world’s too loud. And I walk—every step a sentence in the story I’m writing with my hands, my time, my stubborn heart.
What I'm Into: folded corners, pho that steams, hotel keys, quiet couch moments, sun on linoleum
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