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.