I placed my order in a Paris café,
bracing for the waiter to be rude to me.
He was kind and patient, and my fear melted
like the buttered croissant on my tongue.
I arrived alone in Paris by overnight train.
I got a Eurorail ticket to leave the man who became my husband now.
It was only a few months after our first date,
me moving in with him,
that night.
He flew with me from Hong Kong to Germany.
He introduced me to his family,
to his hometown.
He bought me
blood red Doc Martens walking boots,
a black Nike crossbody backpack.
He put me on the train.