--- // ---
Wake up, I urged myself, but I kept seeing those painful memories flooding back to me.
When I was finally old enough to learn and understand the lyrics he'd written for most of their songs, I came up to him one night. He was in his studio, working on another song as usual. He was a bit surprised to see me and stopped.
"Hey, Baby," he said. "What's up?"
"Daddy, why do you always write angry and sad songs?" I asked him. He looked a bit taken aback at that. "Are you always angry and sad?"
"Nah." He put his guitar away, shook his head and smiled. "What makes you think that?"
I shrugged. "I don't know," I admitted. Then I reasoned. "You don't sing songs like that to me."
His smiled widened as he pulled me closer, right into his arms. He kissed my forehead while I rested my head against his chest.
"Of course not, Baby," he said lightly. "You always make me feel happy."
Somehow, that night I wasn't fully convinced. I looked him in the eye, touching his stubbly jaw.
"Then what about those songs?"
