Day 4: editor

Today, I'm going to cheat and edit a previous poem. Just lost track of time...and feeling a bit melancholy - maybe it's just the weather...

I talk to you in my head, you know?
Funny thing is,
I do it because I
don't have your phone number
                               to text you.

So, I imagine the conversation
the way I would want it to go
and
                                 here goes.

Why is it never enough? I ask,
no I insist,
It is never enough.

The real you wouldn't be able to tell me;
following up with
      Where is this coming from?
and my you shrugs and smiles,
"It's only enough when you say it is,
but when has that answer ever been enough
for you?"

I couldn't even begin to describe
the sound of his heart on his wrist,
the touch of his fingers on my knee,
the smell of the cool side of his pillow,
the sound of his laugh over an inside joke,
the person behind his whatever colored eyes.

I really don't have the courage to delve into what if.

I mean, what's the point?

The real me aches to pack my bags,
run from all the well kept secrets
alcohol and my awkwardness is so eager to bring out
and live in the shadow of an unnamed mountain
with alpacas and sheep and Wi-Fi.

The real me wants to tell you
all of these things,
       ask and ask and ask and ask

What is enough?

Are you ready for me?

Where should we go next?

And then I forget, I don't even have your phone number
        I don't even have a you.