Number Ten
You were staring boldly at me. 
I had felt your brown eyes bore into me, 
probing, searching, 
and I knew then that you were a creep. 
You were quite popular among the ladies. 
I remembered you had one at the time, 
though I was much to buried in my studies 
to care. Because I thought then 
you were disgusting and not worth my time. 
But you were persistent. 
I couldn't ignore you forever, 
and I remembered my first words to you: 
"It's two. One plus one is two." 
You were debating with someone, 
in the midst of a seminar, 
that one plus one was three. 
At my curt interruption, 
you turned to me, 
and pulling out a fresh piece of paper that 
seemingly appeared out of the blue, 
you showed me, 
step-by-step, 
that one plus one was not two, 
but three.