Upstairs in the dimly lit music room, she sat on his knee while deep bass guitars sang in the background. He was holding her hand, tapping it against the wooden table to the rhythm of the song. At five years old, she could recite the lyrics to all The Beatles’ top hits and just barley tell their faces apart on her dad’s memorabilia poster. Every night after dinner, she would run up the stairs with a grin on her face and beg him to play a couple songs. Together, they’d manage to perform an entire album better than The Beatles themselves.
“…Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.”

As the words rang out from the dated stereo system, little tears streamed from her eyes. Her dad reached over, drying her cheeks, but as the music played, she only cried harder.

“ This song is so sad! It makes me feel like I lost something I love, Daddy.”

He smiled and tried explained to the little girl the hopeful message hidden in the song, of letting go of problems that couldn’t be helped, of finding comfort.

“But I don’t need a song for that. That’s what you’re for Daddy.”

A sick feeling spread through his chest at his daughter’s words. He knew it wouldn’t be long before she wouldn’t think this way. He knew one day the nights of rock and roll would end, the “I Love You’s” would become less frequent. He knew the light in her smile would fade with time, that he would quickly fall from the pedestal in her life.

“That’ll never happen, I promise Daddy! I’ll love you forever!”


Ten years later she sat at the wooden table in the dimly lit music room. He was holding her hand, the guy from school with the not so spotless reputation and even more questionable intentions. The memorabilia poster, which still hung on the wall, seemed forgotten in the dark room. The stereo went unnoticed, silenced a few years back. Her dad cracked the door, nervous about the somewhat sketchy male with her, and quickly received a verbal slap across the face.

“GET OUT. What do you think you’re doing? Oh yeah, you’re RUINING EVERYTHING.”

He paused, considering lashing back at his daughter’s sarcasm, but quietly shut the door. It had been years since they’d had a normal conversation anyways. Attempt after attempt, he’d slowly given up. There was nothing left, no common ground to build bridges on, no way of reaching the child he used to know.


She sat in her room, headphones turned on, reality turned off. Blocking the world out seemed like the easiest solution to the endless supply of problems each day had to offer. Without thinking, she hit shuffle on her I-tunes and quickly wished she hadn’t. Paul McCartney’s all too familiar voice sang in her ears, bringing tears to her eyes, only this time nobody was there to dry them.
“Let it be, let it be, let it be..”
She reached to turn off the repetitive chorus but for some reason, she couldn’t. Flashbacks filled her head. The forgotten memories played a little too vividly. When the last piano note was played, she sat stunned in cold silence.

For the first time, she noticed the wrinkles in her father’s forehead. It was as if each of her sharp words had etched them deeper and deeper. His hair had progressed a few shades of grey, and his eyes looked strained as if he were using all his strength to keep them open. A mask of sadness covered his once smiling face, and stress weighed down on his slumping shoulders. She didn’t know what to do. After all, no words can magically heal years of damage. The voices of the past singing worn out words echoed in her heart.

“There will be an answer, let it be.”

Making a silent vow to fix what time had broken, she stared at her dad’s tired image.

“I love you, Daddy,” She whispered to no one but herself.