“Meant To Be” by blossoming is one of those songs that sounds like it was recorded at 3AM in a room lit only by a phone screen. It’s not dramatic. It doesn’t build to an epic chorus. No one yells. Nothing explodes. And yet, somehow, by the end, you’re left staring into the middle distance like you just remembered every mistake you made in 2017.
This is the kind of track that understands emotional devastation isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s just a synth note held a little too long, or a lyric sung like the artist is afraid they might actually believe it. Drawing from the raw minimalism of Royal Blood, the digital tenderness of Porter Robinson, and the late-night-too-honest energy of Twenty-One Pilots, blossoming builds a song that doesn’t need volume to be overwhelming.
The instrumentation is sparse, and deliberately so. There’s just enough here to hold the weight of the song’s feeling, and absolutely nothing more. It’s like someone took the idea of emotional restraint and built an entire track around it. Every sound arrives on purpose, lingers just long enough to make you uncomfortable, and then disappears, leaving you with yourself. Which is, incidentally, the most emotionally confronting experience a person can have.
Lyrically, “Meant To Be” deals with longing, acceptance, and the kind of slow-motion heartbreak that doesn’t involve a big fight; just the gradual, soul-softening realization that something beautiful is no longer alive, and maybe never was in the way you thought. It’s not a breakup song. It’s a “we quietly stopped texting and now I think about you every time I pass a café we never went to” song. It’s a gentle disintegration. A soft collapse. The emotional equivalent of watching fog roll in through a cracked window.
And that’s the power of it. In a music landscape increasingly desperate to say something, blossoming instead feels something, and lets the listener do the rest. “Meant To Be” by blossoming doesn’t push; It invites. It doesn’t resolve anything, and it certainly doesn’t pretend to heal you. It just sits next to you on the couch while you stare into space, sigh, and think: “Yeah… same.”
If you’ve ever felt like your heart has a leak that never quite seals, this one’s for you.
Follow blossoming
About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for publications in the US and former lead writer of Atop The Treehouse. Reviews music, film and TV shows for media aggregators.
