Eleven
With her by my side, I picture us as an 11,
She is a 10, I - her plus 1, a match made in heaven.
I thought of our relationship as unparalleled,
because when I was with her, it was true love I felt.
She was benign too,
The type of gal who’d always be there for you.
She was my first, like with a repunit prime,
My heart nearly burst with joy when she said yes, that she’d be mine.
It was 3 months later when she told me she would appreciate it if we went back to being friends.
‘How do you do that,’ I wondered, ‘when you thought you had something like a number line, something that never ends?’
But I had to act rationally, her feelings were being expressed,
When 11 is divided, there is no even cut, so though feeling depressed
I buried my feelings because if I felt something lost, she must have had a gain
So for her sake, I would hide my pain
Still, I wondered why
What could have prompted her to bid what we had ‘goodbye’?
Perhaps she found me, or found us a bit odd?
Was it because of religion, because of God?
Maybe she needed space,
I could give her her own personal circle, and patiently I could wait
Whether 101 days or months, whatever the case.
But all it took was a single text from 7 all too familiar numbers for the bullet to reach my brain
“She doesn’t want me no more” though hard to accept, the message was very plain
Bitterly I thought, should’ve known this was too good to be true,
After all, i was with a 10, that itself is a clue
That the future I had formerly planned with zeal
Would never, ever, be real
Even now - like the morning sun or forensics shows - there are things that still remind me of her,
But number 5, acceptance, I can upon myself concur
When we were together, we made a lovely pair
But there is a time and place to move on,
For both of us, it’s only fair.
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