He’s Not A 10, But He’s Something More

He’s not a ten.

But the other men I dated in the last nine months never called to see if I arrived home safely when I drove back late at night.

And I cannot recall them ever asking me if I knew, at eight years old, what I wanted to be when I grew up.

He spoke about me in the sweetest and most respectful way. In fact, seven of his friends already knew my name and what I did for a living before I even had the chance to introduce myself.

I remember standing next to him the first night that we went out—his eyes looked at me as a person he wanted to know, even if it meant declining the six different drinks that were offered to him.

Because then five minutes later, we connected in a way that doesn’t happen often in crowded bars—talking about our passionate dreams while his hands reached for mine.

And before I could even process the depth of emotion occurring within this sober and authentic exchange, he read my mind when he asked if I wanted to grab a bite to eat four blocks up the road. And then it happened.

My heart opened the teleportal and motioned for us to walk through, placing us on a quiet, calm beach three years from then where he and I were laughing about how crazy this all was, how unexpected it was to find each other—

But how perfect life would be if it was just the two of us.

And maybe, just maybe, at that very moment, he would get down on one knee and show me a love that proved to me that I never actually knew what a ten was.