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.