I’ve grown fond of the numbers.
103 beats per minute, the rhythm of that song
you played for me once, and then twice,
until it lived in my head the way you do.
103 beats per minute,
the tempo of my pulse
when your voice pulls my name into the air,
when you look at me like I’m something
worth looking at.
103 steps per minute,
the pace of your walk,
a tempo I fall into instinctively,
because side by side is where I want to be.
103, like a secret language,
like an equation only we understand.
1 phrase, 0 doubts, 3 words,
a calculation that always adds up.
Apr 7
Apr 7, 2026 at 4:49 AM UTC
I’ve grown fond of the numbers.
103 beats per minute, the rhythm of that song
you played for me once, and then twice,
until it lived in my head the way you do.
103 beats per minute,
the tempo of my pulse
when your voice pulls my name into the air,
when you look at me like I’m something
worth looking at.
103 steps per minute,
the pace of your walk,
a tempo I fall into instinctively,
because side by side is where I want to be.
103, like a secret language,
like an equation only we understand.
1 phrase, 0 doubts, 3 words,
a calculation that always adds up.
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