Music video IV

Elena clicked on the next video, the title 7 Years glowing softly on her screen. The opening chords spilled into the room, carrying a sense of nostalgia that wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

"Once I was seven years old, my mama told me,

Go make yourself some friends or you'll be lonely."

On the screen, a young boy ran through a sunlit field, his laughter blending with the song. The scene was simple yet powerful, and Elena couldn't look away. It reminded her of the summers spent in her grandmother's garden, where her mother would stand on the porch, calling her inside as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, soft and patient: "You need to go out more, Elena. Make some friends—you'll thank me later."

Back then, she'd groan and roll her eyes, preferring the company of books to people. But now? Now, she'd give anything to hear that voice again.

The boy in the video grew older, the innocence of childhood giving way to the uncertainty of adolescence. Schoolyard moments, awkward first dances, and quiet nights staring at the stars flashed across the screen.

"I only see my goals, I don't believe in failure,

'Cause I know the smallest voices, they can make it major."

The line struck a chord, unraveling a thread deep in her chest. Elena had spent so much of her life chasing dreams she barely dared to believe in. The smallest voices, the tiniest hopes—she'd clung to them, praying they would lead her somewhere meaningful.

By the end of the video, the boy had become a man, sitting alone at a piano. His hands trembled as he played a familiar tune, his eyes heavy with years of memories.

Elena didn't realize she was crying until a tear slid down her cheek, warm and unbidden. The video ended in silence, leaving her to sit with the weight of her emotions.

The next video, Another Love, began without warning.

"I wanna take you somewhere so you know I care,

But it's so cold and I don't know where."

The screen filled with stark, black-and-white imagery: a lone figure standing on a windswept cliff, the ocean crashing violently below. The voice in the song was filled with yearning, the kind that pulled at the edges of her soul.

"And if somebody hurts you, I wanna fight,

But my hands been broken one too many times."

Elena's breath hitched. How many times had she wanted to protect the people she loved, only to feel powerless? The weight of her own failures pressed against her chest as the figure in the video clutched a weathered letter, its edges torn.

When the letter was released to the wind, the camera lingered on its journey—carried away, lost to the storm.

"And I'd sing a song that'd be just ours,

But I sang 'em all to another heart."

The lyrics cut deep, exposing a part of her heart she often tried to ignore. Elena's fingers hovered over her keyboard, but she couldn't bring herself to move. She sat frozen, caught between the beauty of the music and the ache it left behind.

Then came Mama Said. The melody was softer, tender, wrapping around her like a familiar hug. The video opened with a mother cradling her newborn son, her face glowing with love and exhaustion.

"Mama said, don't give up,

It's a little complicated."

Elena's chest tightened. She thought of her own mother, always steady, always strong. Her mother's hands—calloused from years of work—would hold hers when the world became too much.

She remembered the countless times her mother had whispered those words to her. "Don't give up, Elena. It's just a rough patch."

On-screen, the mother guided her son's first steps, clapping as he stumbled forward. The boy grew, and so did her pride—cheering at his school plays, sewing his costumes late at night, and holding him close after heartbreaks.

"They say it's all been done, but they haven't seen the best of me."

The mother's hair turned gray, her steps slower, but her love never wavered. She sat beside her grown son, their hands intertwined as sunlight streamed through the window.

Elena's tears flowed freely now. She thought of the times she'd taken her own mother for granted, the arguments they'd had, the words she wished she could take back. She missed her mother's laugh, the way it could fill a room and make everything feel lighter.

By the end of the video, the mother and son sat together in comfortable silence, the world outside moving on without them.

Elena clutched her chest, overwhelmed by the emotions that surged through her. She wished to go meet her mother right now, hear her voice, tell her how much she missed just hanging out with her.

The video ended, leaving Elena in a sea of memories and longing. She sat motionless, staring at the screen as the final frame lingered.

Her cursor hovered over the next title, her vision blurred with tears.

"I miss you, Mom," she whispered, her voice trembling.

But instead of closing the tab, she clicked to watch the next video.

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