Sometimes, it's something really small.
Like, sometimes? It's the side of your little face. Your dimples. Your lips.
Sometimes it's the way you laugh.
Honestly? Sometimes it's the way you struggle with certain things.
And how dark...how black your hair is.
Most of the time, it's nothing at all. Most of the time, for real, I don't even remember that he ever existed. It's like he was never there, was never a part of our life. I can't, even while trying, remember what he looks like.
But then sometimes? It all comes back to me.
Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it hurts really, really bad. Sometimes I think back and I wonder what might have been.
I'd do it all again. Because the broken road led me to this life.