Someone is looking back at a friendship, or perhaps a relationship, that is slipping away. The speaker links the person to the number 10, the age they once promised to always be there for them. The title, with its image of throwing supermarket flowers from a windowsill, hints at a gesture of letting go or giving up, though the poem itself never explains it.
The speaker's wish is to stay ten, "never grow up," and keep the closeness intact. But the poem admits this is impossible: a number is "always just going to be a number." The line "No matter how hard I try" shows real effort, and the plain last line, "We just keep growing apart," lands quietly and sadly.
The mood is wistful and tender, with a childlike simplicity in the language that matches the age the speaker longs for. There is no anger here, only a sense of helplessness as time pulls two people in different directions.