Strawberries and Cigarrettes

1

I was sleeping in the same bed as my bandmate and close friend when suddenly she woke up and fell to the floor. I didn’t notice until the noise made me open my eyes. Still half-asleep, I got up and went to the bathroom, only to find her there, kneeling on the floor, staring blankly and throwing up.

“G-Good morning…” she said in a very tired voice.

“Good morning…” I replied, just as exhausted.

Momoka slowly stood up from the floor, still feeling awful from drinking the night before. She rinsed her mouth with water and splashed some on her face to try to wake up.

“Ugh, damn it… Last night was too much, huh?” she groaned, leaning on the sink. “Do you think we should order breakfast in bed today? Maybe some ramen or udon to soak up the alcohol…”

“Sure, sure… Sounds good… Uh… do you know if we ended up hooking up last night or something?”

Momoka blinked a couple of times, trying to piece together the previous night through the hangover fog. She rubbed her temples, feeling a little dizzy.

“Hmm… I think we might have done something, but I’m not really sure. Everything’s kind of blurry.” She shrugged and then gave a small smile. “But hey, even if we didn’t, we can always do it now, right?”

She said it with a playful grin.

I looked at her, flashing a teasing smile, and stepped closer again.

2

Lost in thought and uninterested in anything else, I strummed the strings of my guitar, trying to create something. Something good. Really good. Little by little, with each strum, I started building a very heartfelt, very inspired instrumental; every note seemed to release a bit of the trapped feelings inside me.

Nanananananana… I began humming something like “Pieces” by Sum 41, tapping the rhythm with my foot and letting the music fill the silence of the room.

“Hey, what are you gonna do if the band thing doesn’t work out?” Momoka asked suddenly, snapping me out of my trance.

I paused, letting my guitar rest in my lap while I stared into space.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I guess I’ll figure it out eventually.”

There was a trace of insecurity in my voice—I knew it. Like I couldn’t see past the day-to-day. I was clear on what I wanted, what I craved, my big ambition. Yet I couldn’t stop the constant doubts from creeping in with every thing I did. My dream of making music was all I had, and the idea of losing it spun in my head like a weight I couldn’t escape.

“If you say so…” Momoka concluded, her tone a mix of support and resignation. She slung her guitar case over her shoulder and left the apartment, ready to head to the studio with the others.

3

The sun was shining gently when we left Momoka’s place. The soft morning breeze felt really pleasant on the walk to the studio.

We usually chatted about all kinds of things on the way; that day I was the one who broke the silence first.

“Did you hear who Shin’s dating?”

“Yeah, it’s a thing, but it’s not exactly world-shattering.” She shrugged. “Honestly, I saw it coming.”

“Really? Why do you say that?”

Momoka let out a soft laugh.

“I don’t know, just… Shin’s always had that reckless-boy vibe, right? Like he never thinks too much before doing something.”

I nodded in understanding.

“I guess so. But hey, in the end we all make our own choices, don’t we?”

Momoka shrugged again, indifferent.

“Yeah, sure. Besides, he’s old enough. He knows what he’s doing.”

“True… It’s funny how people tend to overanalyze that stuff. A small age difference, and suddenly everyone acts like they’re breaking some unwritten rule.”

I reflected.

Momoka smiled.

“Totally. Sometimes I feel like people forget that individuals can make their own decisions, regardless of age. We all deserve to find someone we connect with, no matter the numbers, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I suppose so. Though sometimes it feels like society wants to box us in, turn everything into a big drama.”

Momoka shrugged once more.

“That’s just background noise. In the end, it all comes down to how you feel and who you choose to share your life with.”

The two of us fell silent for a moment, walking together toward the studio, each lost in our own thoughts.

4

“Do you have that song ready yet?” Kaito, the bassist, asked, looking at me impatiently.

“No, not yet. Sorry.” I answered while plugging in the amp cable.

“We need it now and you know it,” Haruto, the drummer, chimed in this time.

“I’ll start it tonight.” I said, a mix of determination and resignation in my voice.

“You’ve said that before,” Kaito snapped, crossing his arms.

“It’s not like we haven’t been doing fine so far with covers and instrumentals,” I shot back, trying to downplay it. My tone sounded almost defensive.

Deep down it wasn’t that I didn’t want to write the song. The problem was, if I was going to do it, I needed to feel it. To create something good. Being pressured to feel something you didn’t was exhausting and frustrating. And even if no one noticed, I was trying with everything I had to do exactly what they were asking of me.

Kaito gave me a look that mixed frustration and a touch of disbelief.

“Yeah, but for how much longer? Do you want to be the band that plays covers in bars or the one people remember for their own songs?”

Haruto let out a short sigh, tapping his drum stool rhythmically with his sticks, almost unconsciously.

“Renji, we all know you’re the best at writing. No one else in the group can pull off something that sounds so… how do I put it?” He paused, searching for words. “So authentic as what you do.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” I murmured, looking down at my guitar.

Momoka, who had been quietly adjusting her amp, decided to jump in.

“He’s right, you know? You’re the one who gives the band soul. No matter how good we are on our instruments, without an original song, we’re just pretty noise.”

Momoka’s words hit deep—not because they were new, but because I felt the weight of everyone’s expectations on me.

“I get it, okay? I know we need to do it. But sometimes… I don’t know, I feel like every word I write is never enough. Like I can never live up to what’s expected of me.”

Silence filled the studio for a moment.

“That’s because you overthink it,” Momoka said, shrugging with a small smile.

Damn it, why do you have to be such a good friend?

I thought with mock annoyance.

“Yeah, dude. Just write it. Whatever. Do it for you, not for us or anyone else…” Haruto added.

I stared at the guitar in my hands. The weight of their words was still there, but mixed with something else: a spark, maybe.

“Tonight. I’ll do it tonight.” I repeated quietly, like I needed to convince myself.

Momoka stood up and picked up her guitar.

“Come on, let’s play something. Even if it’s just to clear our heads.”

Without waiting for an answer, she started strumming a chord. Something simple, almost carefree, but it immediately filled the space. The bassist and drummer joined in, and I followed soon after, letting the sound drown—at least for a while—all my doubts.

Tonight I’d take care of everything.

5

While staring at the paper and pen on the table, I sat lost in thought, gaze fixed but distant. My mind wandered between the present and past memories. There were days when I completely doubted my purpose, days when the words simply wouldn’t come, as if the emotions were locked behind a wall I didn’t know how to tear down.

Then I remembered. I remembered why. Why I’d decided to start making music in the first place.

It wasn’t about fame or filling stadiums. I wanted to make friends through music, to build real connections. Genuine ones, the kind that don’t need words to be felt, that are born from a chord or a shared lyric. Or that are triggered by feelings rising to the surface because of a song.

But now, with a deadline breathing down my neck and the silence of the room wrapping around me like a heavy blanket, I didn’t know where to start. What did I want to say? What emotions did I want to pour onto the page, into the lyrics, into the song, into the listeners?

I sighed heavily and unlocked my phone, opening Spotify almost on instinct. Maybe, just maybe, my favorite music could give me a spark, a thread to pull. I scrolled through my playlists, reading titles, looking for something to light that creative flame.

I started listening to some songs for inspiration. I played “I’m Addicted to You” by Anna Tsuchiya, followed by “Drown” by Bring Me the Horizon, and then “Yoru ga Akeru” by Given.

While listening, I jotted down and scribbled words and phrases that came to mind, then remembered the “Pieces”-like melody I’d been playing on guitar that morning just before heading to the studio, and tried to shape something with all of it.

I remembered something Momoka had once told me, something meant as kind of advice. It had been super simple but at the same time surprisingly effective and spot-on for her.

She’d said:

“Music is about letting go, right? Just write whatever.”

So that’s exactly what I was going to do.

The pen in my hand came back to life, and the words started flowing with unexpected ease. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, nor was I trying to make it perfect, but every phrase I wrote felt like it brought me closer to what I needed. The song began to take shape, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like the words weren’t a burden—they were a release.

The melody I’d been playing that morning started fitting with the lyrics, and soon the song made sense, like it had been waiting to come out all along. It didn’t matter if it was what the others expected or not; this was what I wanted to say. And that was enough.

When I finally finished, I set the pen down and leaned back in the chair. The song was ready.

My mind was at peace.

The next day at the studio, I showed the others what I’d written and explained how I wanted it all to sound. The drums full of overflowing energy, the guitar constant, driving the rhythm without rest, and the bass holding the foundation but with a melancholic tone that contrasted sharply with everything else. It had to sound like it was crying, like it was lamenting something, I’d tell Momoka. The song needed to be sung with pain, with uncertainty, but also with strength and rebellion—like an explosion of emotions in old-school pop-punk and rock style.

The drummer and bassist exchanged a knowing look, a spark of understanding passing between them. Momoka put a hand on my shoulder, nodded slightly, and gave a small smile.

“That sounds exactly like what we need,” she said.

It made me feel like, somehow, it all already made sense.

And just like that, without further delay, we started rehearsing the song.

SONG: "Lost in Shadows"

(Verse 1)

I’m drowning in whispers I can’t escape,

Pull me down deeper, where silence takes shape.

Every night, a ghost on my skin,

A fire that fades, then pulls me in.

(Chorus)

You make me wanna fall, leave it all behind,

Burn in your shadow, blind by design.

Take what’s left of me, I’m running dry,

Nothing feels alive—just wanna say goodbye.

(Verse 2)

In your eyes, I see the dark sky break,

A twisted game only shadows play.

Every step I take, I’m lost, I’m gone,

Chasing the echo until I’m undone.

(Second Chorus)

Caught in the silence, where words never fall,

I’m fading in shadows, you won’t hear me call.

Take what’s left of me, I’m running dry,

Nothing feels alive—just wanna say goodbye.

(Verse 3)

In your touch, I feel the darkness rise,

A hollow embrace, it’s my last disguise.

Every breath I take, I’m drowning slow,

Chasing the echo where the cold winds blow.

(Verse 4)

The night consumes me, no light left to find,

I’m broken in pieces, but you’re still on my mind.

I reach for tomorrow, but it’s slipping away,

Falling apart with every word you don’t say.(Final Chorus)

You make me wanna fall, leave it all behind,

Burn in your shadow, blind by design.

Take what’s left of me, I’m running dry,

Nothing feels alive—just wanna say goodbye.