I wasn’t ready for Distant to hit me like that. Ava Valianti is only 15, but the girl’s already got me spiraling like I just ran into my ex-best friend at CVS and pretended not to care. Her voice? So clear and intimate it’s like she’s sitting on your bed, phone in hand, scrolling through memories you didn’t ask to revisit. And those lyrics? They cut like a spontaneous text at 1AM: unfiltered, specific, and way too real.
She opens with “I knew you like the back of my left hand, my right hand man,” and immediately I’m pulled into that kind of ride-or-die friendship that feels immortal until it’s not. “Not a single one in this goddamn town who understood my plans / But you’d withstand” — it’s giving tiny-town teenage rebellion, secret plans, and that one person who actually got it. Until they didn’t.
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Ava’s whole thing here is contrast. That sonic sparkle — bright guitar, clean indie-pop percussion, just the right amount of polish — up against lyrics that are so heartbreakingly observational. “We see each other on the weekends sometimes / Your hair looks perfect and your makeup looks fine.” You can practically hear the smile through gritted teeth. You don’t say I miss you. You say “You look nice,” and hope it lands.
What makes Distant sting so good is that it doesn’t try to be profound. It just is. Ava writes like she’s not afraid of the silence between texts or the awkwardness of growing out of someone you once thought was permanent. “You say you’re gonna be real busy, have to go to lots of parties / While I sit at home and waste my time.” That line? Brutal. Not because it’s dramatic, but because it’s not. It’s lowkey, and that’s what makes it hurt.
A steady ache runs under the shimmer of the track, but then comes that gut punch of a bridge: “I slept over your house nearly every day / And I know it sounds weird and cliché, but I danced with your sister in the rain.” It’s so specific, so unguarded, it stops me in my tracks. There’s nothing delulu about it — this is pure remembrance. The shells on the beach, the rain, the lie about being from the sea. It’s so damn teenage and so damn true.
Ava doesn’t just mourn the friendship — she excavates it. She watches it unravel like a slow montage: “Do your parents still fight every weekend? / Always wondering ‘bout things I’ll never know.” It’s knowing someone so well that you can still hear their parents yelling in your head… even when you haven’t been over in months. That’s the real sickness she’s “bearing witness” to.
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And don’t even get me started on that final scene. “Walking with your friends and I’m laughing with mine / As the doors begin to slide / I catch the recognition in your eye.” That tiny flicker of a shared past, caught and gone in a second, might be one of the most relatable things I’ve heard in a song all year. We’ve all had that moment — the almost-smile, the silent “I remember too.”
Ava said her influences include Gracie Abrams and Lizzy McAlpine, and you can hear it. There’s a clarity and self-awareness in her lyrics that feels cut from the same cloth. But Ava adds a little more pop sheen — it’s got replay value, without losing the soul. She’s also racking up the receipts already: 150+ radio spins, two New England Music Award noms, and she’s shared stages with Jessica Baio and Lucy Kaplansky. So yeah, this girl’s not just vibing — she’s building something real.
Distant is for the girls who still keep old voice memos, who scroll through photo dumps and feel that pull in their chest. It’s not a breakup song. It’s a breakaway song. One you didn’t choose, one you weren’t ready for. But Ava’s already lived it.
