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valerie.wilson meow
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THE MORNING felt heavier than it should have. valerie sat on the floor of her living room, legs crossed, guitar resting against her knees, untouched. sunlight trickled through the blinds, casting thin lines across the hardwood. it was quiet—too quiet, but that had become the norm. no sounds of traffic bleeding in through the windows, no neighbors thumping around in the hall. just stillness, like the whole world had taken a breath and held it.
her phone buzzed once, vibrating against the coffee table. she glanced at it, noting the text from her manager, probably about the latest mix of her single. she ignored it, feeling a knot of tension already building at the base of her skull. everyone was waiting for her next move, expecting something big, something better. but she hadn't written anything in days. maybe weeks. she'd lost track.
valerie looked down at her guitar, fingers tracing the worn strings without pressing hard enough to make a sound. she had written a dozen songs on this thing, maybe more, but now every chord she played felt like it didn't belong to her. it was like she'd been speaking a language she no longer understood.
there was a knock at the door, sudden and sharp, cutting through the silence. it startled her. nobody ever came by—she hadn't invited anyone over in weeks, not since she needed space to work. or try to, anyway. valerie stood up slowly, leaving the guitar on the floor as she walked to the door. she opened it a crack.
"hey," a voice said, familiar and light, belonging to the mail carrier. "package for you."
valerie blinked. she hadn't ordered anything. "thanks," she mumbled, taking the small box he handed her. after he left, she closed the door, staring at the unmarked package. it felt heavier than it looked.
she carried it back to the couch and set it down, hesitating before ripping off the tape. inside was a stack of notebooks, all black, their covers worn. her breath caught when she recognized them.
old journals.
the ones she had shoved into the back of a closet when she moved into this apartment, things she hadn't touched in years. she had forgotten about them, but here they were, delivered back to her. her handwriting scrawled across the top pages in ink that had faded over time. she flipped one open. messy lines of lyrics, half-formed thoughts, confessions scribbled in between verses. things she had written before anyone knew her name. before the pressure, before the weight of people expecting her to be a certain version of herself.
valerie read through a few lines, and then closed the journal. she sat back against the couch and ran a hand through her hair. she hadn't been looking for answers in the past. she thought that was behind her, buried. yet here it was, sitting in her lap, waiting to be revisited.
her phone buzzed again. this time, it was her manager.
imessages
Claire Manager
mix sounds good. they want it done by friday.
okay seen
valerie read the text, then tossed the phone back onto the table. she wasn't ready for any of it. not the deadlines, not the expectations, and definitely not another song that people would hear and think they understood her through. she rubbed her temples, the familiar pressure of it all making her head throb.
her eyes drifted back to the journals. back to a time when she hadn't cared about the world listening in, back when it was just her and the music, raw and unpolished. those old pages held pieces of her—maybe even the parts she'd been missing lately.
she grabbed one, flipping it open again, and started reading. not the whole thing, just bits and pieces. scattered lines that felt like fragments of who she had been.
a line caught her eye.
"will i spend all the rest of my years wishing i could go back?"
valerie sat with that for a moment, the words echoing in her mind. she hadn't known what she meant when she wrote it. not back then, anyway. now, it felt too close to the truth.
she reached for her guitar again. this time, her fingers pressed against the strings, and she strummed softly, letting the sound break through the silence. it was rough, uncertain, but it was something. it was hers.
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i suck at starting stories but trust the process🙏🏽🙏🏽
