Ava Valianti closes out her debut album Petunias with “Running on Empty,” a track that feels like flipping through an old, half-forgotten scrapbook only to realize the memories still sting. At just 16, Ava sings with the clarity of someone already familiar with the quiet ache of change — the kind that happens slowly, subtly, until one day you look back and realize entire chapters of your life now belong to strangers. Her voice, soft but wounded, floats over a gentle indie-pop arrangement that refuses to overshadow its vulnerability. There’s no forced drama here — just a truthful reflection of the emotional exhaustion that comes when childhood’s constancy gives way to the unpredictability of growing up.
The lyrics unfold like a personal diary left open: names, small details, memories that matter more than we expect them to. Mariama — purple pajamas and backyard tents — represents innocence, the kind of friendship built around shared secrets and unfiltered imagination. Then there’s Jonny — scraped knees and quiet affection — a memory tinged with a hint of unrealized romance. Ava doesn’t exaggerate these relationships, but honors how important they were because they were ordinary. In that humility lies the heartbreak: distance has crept in not through fights or dramatic endings, but simply through time. The way she asks, “How do the people we love become people we forget?” is less a question needing an answer and more a confession that she doesn’t know how she ended up here — missing people who may not miss her back.
The chorus captures the emotional pivot of the song — that helpless realization that life keeps moving even when we’re not ready to let go. There’s guilt in her wondering whether they think of her, and fear wrapped inside the words “I hope you don’t regret me.” It’s a plea disguised as a lyric. Growing up often means losing people before you even notice they’re leaving, and Ava manages to write that truth without bitterness. Instead, “Running on Empty” suggests exhaustion — not just from loss, but from carrying the weight of caring so deeply. When she repeats the title line, you can almost hear her catching her breath between memories she can’t quite put down.
The bridge widens the emotional scope of the track. “Where are they now?” echoes like a message sent into the universe with no expectation of reply. Ava is grieving the friends she lost and confronting the version of herself that existed with them. Running away from mistakes, running away from feelings — it’s the familiar instinct of someone terrified that connections always end in pain. Yet there’s no cynicism here. Instead, her reflection is tender: these people shaped her, helped her feel something real, and their absence still shapes her now. The production strips back just enough in this section to spotlight the rawness in her voice — a moment of vulnerability laid bare before the final chorus returns with more weight than before.
As the closing song on Petunias, “Running on Empty” ties together the album’s emotional throughline — the transition from childhood simplicity to teenage complexity, from comfort to uncertainty. It leaves listeners suspended in reflection, reminded of their own Mariamas and Jonnys, those friends who once felt permanent but now exist only in digital traces and blurry memories. Ava Valianti has crafted something quietly powerful: a song that mourns not tragedy, but the inevitability of life changing before we’re ready. For a debut project, it’s a fearless way to say goodbye to the younger self she’s beginning to outgrow.
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