Ten was what I ranked him on my scale.

It’s the number of times he adjusted my arms,

so they would fit perfectly around his neck.
Ten was the hour he took my hand,
and the number of steps in our makeshift waltz.
It’s the number of times we snuck a glance
under the thatch roof.
The number of years that stood between us
The number of seconds it took for me to take interest
The number of seconds it took for him to tell me
that I can’t have him.
Ten is the number of seconds it took for my heart to crack,
then fracture into ten jagged pieces.