She would have been beautiful.
A child with a wild spirit,
Bright and inquisitive,
With bouncing curls like her big brother
And shining blue eyes like her parents,
I picture her climbing trees,
Chasing after Caleb down the bike trails.
What would her favorite color have been?
Her favorite foods?
Would she like to read?
Would she be into art? Music? Science? Math?
What would my little girl have been like?
Who would she have been?
I’ve seen her in my dreams,
But is that who she would have really been?
Am I delusional to think I’ve seen her?
To think I’ve spoken to her?
Only in dreams,
But they felt like an alternate reality,
One where she survived.
One where she’s getting to grow up.
One where she’s going to be seven in July.
One where she isn’t dead.
One where I stayed away from Samy
Long enough for her to be born.
One where I didn’t fuck everything up.
One where her own father didn’t kill her.
The life that never got to live.
Never got to live.
My baby girl.
My Ella Mae.
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