Because over the past few days?
I watched.
Everything.
Twelve damn hours of her videos.
Old ones. New ones.
Ones with shitty lighting and ones with full production setups.
Her laughing. Talking. Driving. Living.
Long hair blowing in the breeze. Lips stained red from that apple pie flavored balm she likes to wear.
I wasn’t there when she was building something from nothing—but I’ve seen it now.
And the more I watched?
The more I realized something I probably should’ve known all along.
Esme’s got guts.
Always did.
But this?
This life she built?
Living on the road, figuring it out on her own, putting herself out there for the world to see—that takes something else.
Something stronger.
Braver.
And yeah—she’s smart. Funny. And pretty.
So goddamn pretty it should be illegal.
But that’s not what gets me.
Not really.
It’s the way she kept going.
The way she didn’t break.
The way she didn’t need anyone.
And knowing that?
Knowing she doesn’t need a big, strong man to survive?
Yeah, that just makes me want to be that man even more.
Which is probably fucked up.
But I don’t care.
