Carving your initials in the trunk of a dead tree. Making a place in my mind for you to love me. Carefully carrying away the thoughts of you before the new moon brings a new tide of feeling. Making room for you,impossible, since the room is full and no one has asked to let space in years. Quietly wishing all of this would go away. Quietly hoping it lasts long enough to see fruition. Hoping against hope the pain stops before the breathing does.