Some Songs Just Know You

I'm nervous to post this one. Which probably means I should. Because when I started this blog, I said I wanted to be honest.

Here goes...

I measure relationships by Wi-Fi.

Not in the literal sense, though; let's be honest: walking into someone's house and automatically connecting to their Wi-Fi is a love language. But in the way real, solid relationships feel like that. Seamless. No passwords needed. No hesitations. Just ease.

Which is why Olivia Dean's Password Change hit me in a way I wasn't expecting.

It's not a breakup song in the dramatic, screaming-in-the-rain kind of way. It's worse. It's about the slow, quiet kind of heartbreak. The kind where there's no big fight, no final conversation, no real moment where it all falls apart.

Just small shifts.

Unanswered texts.

Conversations that used to flow but now feel stilted.

A person who used to be yours slowly turning into someone you no longer recognise.

And before you even realise it, you're outside. Locked out.

'I guess somehow I pissed you off

I guess I should've called you back'

I know this feeling so well. That moment where you start running through every interaction, trying to figure out what you did. The last text, the last joke, the last night out. Was there something you missed? Something you should have said? And then comes the next part, the part that really gets me:

‘You should've just told me if you didn't wanna go stay at the party

We could have left’

It's such a small thing. Such a basic thing. Just say something.

Just be honest.

And yet, I have been in relationships where even this level of honesty felt impossible, where I found myself constantly reading between the lines, trying to interpret silences, adjusting myself in ways I didn't even realise, just to keep the connection going.

Because I was trying, that's what this song really holds for me. The trying. The way you keep adjusting, shifting, learning someone's language, only to realise that every time you think you've figured them out, they move the goalposts.

‘And just when I think I've cracked you

You do a password change’

God, that's it. That's exactly what it feels like. The constant effort to decode someone, to anticipate their needs, to prove again and again that you belong in their life.

Only to realise that no matter what you do, they get to decide when to let you in. And when to lock you out.

And I used to accept that.

I used to keep knocking.

I used to keep guessing.

Keep thinking, maybe I just need to be better, softer, easier to love.

But I don't do that anymore.

Because here's what I know now: love, real love shouldn't feel like a game. It shouldn't feel like a test you must keep passing, a puzzle you must keep solving. It shouldn't require a password at all.

Some things should just work.

Some things should just feel easy.

But here's the thing.

This blog isn't really about Wi-Fi.

It's about music. About the way a three-minute song can say something you've been trying to articulate for years. A stranger—an artist—can put words to your emotions, wrap melody around them, and suddenly, you get it. You understand yourself better because they understood something first.

Music has done this for me time and time again. Olivia Dean isn't the first, and she won't be the last. There are songs that have held me together on bad days, songs that have cracked me open in ways I didn't see coming.

Songs that have given me permission to move on, to let go, to feel everything all at once.

And that's the magic of it.

Because sometimes, a song doesn't just describe your feelings.

It gives you permission to finally feel them.

And for that, today, I am really grateful.