In every space I’ll carve your name

I do not mourn for yesterday’s version of you (it is not lost, it’s in my soul); every day grown is another engraving, and every day to come I bare an open face so you can etch upon me your uniqueness.

I do not mourn how you’ve already grown, I fear the idea of missing out on your marking, not being present for your latest impressions, or the day I run out of empty plates.