There’s a certain quiet ache in the space left after “us” collapses into “not us.” In Would’ve Been You, Sombr places the listener squarely inside that weight. This isn’t about a breakup where both parties move on; it’s about the one who stayed behind in the memory of the other, the one who loved deeply even though love wasn’t fully granted. From the opening moment the song declares its premise — “if anyone could’ve saved me / it would’ve been you” — you feel the vulnerability. This is love born of resignation as much as devotion.
What distinguishes the track is how it blends regret with responsibility. The narrator doesn’t blame the other for all that occurred — instead, he looks at his own actions: “I killed a part of who I was to keep you on my side.” That moment of insight makes the song resonate differently. It isn’t about pointing a finger; it’s about introspection and realising you played a role in how things fell apart. And perhaps more painfully: realising that you couldn’t fix it even if you were the best candidate.
Sombr’s Evolution: From Bedroom Confessions to Emotional Clarity
Prior to this release, Sombr (born Shane Michael Boose) had built a reputation for confessional indie-pop tunes that expressed heartbreak in raw terms. With this single, the emotional palette deepens. The instrumentation is less acute, the vocals less urgent, and the emotional space broader. Instead of a fleeting heartbreak anthem, we have a reckoning. The song shows he is maturing — not by being less hopeful, but by being more honest.
Production-wise, the track benefits from sparse spaces and layered vocal echoes so that you sense both the presence and the absence. It invites you into late-night reflection rather than early-morning catharsis. For listeners familiar with Sombr’s earlier work, this shift signals an artist growing into the weight of his feelings rather than escaping them.
The Anatomy of Emotion
Rescue That Never Came
The most prominent emotional thread is the sense that one person might have been the remedy — for pain, for loss, for emotional undoing — and yet wasn’t. The refrain that “if anyone could’ve saved me / it would’ve been you” speaks in conditional past tense: it suggests an opportunity, a failure, a realisation. The emotional conflict lies in the recognition of that potential, even as you admit you failed to deliver or that the other failed to reciprocate. The result: an empty pedestal and a fragile foundation.
Self-Loss for Love
Another key turning point is the admission “I killed a part of who I was to keep you on my side.” In that line lies the tragedy: the self is the first casualty of misaligned love. The narrator traded pieces of himself for a chance to belong, to hold on, to matter. That trade leaves him with more than heartbreak—it leaves dislocation. The person he was, the person he is, and the person he would become all feel fractured.
Acceptance Without Closure
The bridge moment of the song says: “You can’t save someone who can’t be saved.” That line shifts the song from regret into understanding. It acknowledges a truth many resist: sometimes the failure isn’t one person’s fault, it’s the misalignment of two people’s timing, capacity, willingness. The narrator doesn’t shift into vengeance; he shifts into reality. That transition doesn’t mean relief, but it means clarity, which is a different kind of pain.
Sound as Story
Musically, the track is built to mirror its theme. The tempo is moderate — not a wake-up call, not a lullaby. The production envelops the listener in atmosphere: airy synth pads, soft percussion, a vocal delivery that hovers between confession and lament. The mix emphasises fragility — the slight reverb makes the voice feel vulnerable, as if singing in a wide room alone.
The effect is that the listener isn’t just hearing the story, they’re inhabiting it. They aren’t standing outside the emotional ride; they’re right there in the co-passenger seat. The shift from earlier Sombr songs is evident: whereas before the heartbreak might hit its peak fast, here the heartbreak is drawn out. You feel the months of wandering, the late nights, the breaths held. That gives the track its power—not just because it’s relatable, but because it acknowledges time itself.
Themes & Insights
The Other Person as Mirror
Frequently in relationships someone becomes both your comfort and your cost. Here, the other person is that mirror. The narrator sees their best self and also sees their worst self reflected back. The phrase “You were never mine but I was always yours” captures this duality: ownership disguised, affection unreturned, and responsibility shouldered. That tension between belonging and being owned is central.
Time, Future and Forgotten Potential
The song is steeped in future-tension: “It would’ve been you.” That conditional phrasing holds all the “what ifs.” Listeners feel the future that might have been. Emotionally, that future hasn’t arrived, but its ghost lingers. The emotional aftermath isn’t just about loss—it’s about absence of possibility. You didn’t just lose love; you lost the version of yourself who believed you could be saved by someone else. That makes the track heavy.
Pain Without Drama
Unlike songs that use big drama—shouting, breaking things, big revelations—this one stays quiet. The wounds are visible but the screams are silent. That choice amplifies the authenticity. It doesn’t demand your sympathy; it invites your empathy.
Where It Stands in Sombr’s Catalogue & For Fans
Released November 17 2023, Would’ve Been You came before Sombr’s later chart-topping singles. It acts as a precursor—not a lesser track, but a foundational one. It shows his early depth, even prior to mainstream breakthrough. For fans, it often becomes a touchstone: the song you return to when you’re not just heartbroken, but haunted by what you sacrificed or allowed in love.
In the larger arc of his career, this track evidences that his emotional range is not unidirectional. He isn’t just singing of being dumped or moving on; he’s singing of self-examination, gratitude, regret—all at once. That complexity elevates his work, sets the tone for I Barely Know Her and gives him artistic legitimacy beyond streaming stats.
Who Will Connect Most
If you’ve ever asked yourself: Did I give too much? Did I let someone leave parts of me behind? Did I rely on someone else to save me? — this song will land hard. If you’ve ever felt unseen for how much you tried, or guilty for how much you stayed, it will reach you. It’s not just for those who were left—it’s for those who stayed. It’s for the patient, the hopeful, the ones who wait even when the time to wait has passed.
It also resonates because it reframes love from a binary of together or broken to a spectrum of survival. You don’t need to have had a public drama. The private internal loss is enough. The track legitimises the small-scale, daily heartbreak that rarely gets airtime.
How to Listen the Next Time
When you play the song:
- Listen with intent: headphones on, volume moderate so you hear the subtle reverbs and the quiet spaces between lines.
- Let yourself feel the time: Not just the moment of heartbreak, but the weeks/months of build-up, longing, realisation.
- Consider your own past: What did you give up in hopes of keeping someone? What parts of you remain waiting?
- After the track, don’t skip—sit in the silence. Let the emotional weight linger. Ask: what does this song bring up for me right now?
- Notice the tone: there’s no screaming, there’s no cinematic buildup. The power lies in stillness. That stillness may mirror the hardest part of moving on: the pause, the waiting, the reflection.
Final Thoughts
Would’ve Been You stands out because it gives voice to something we rarely admit: that the person who could’ve saved us might have been us—through our willingness to transform, to ask for help, to be saved. But instead we stayed in that hope and allowed parts of ourselves to fade. Speed isn’t the enemy; time is. The passage of years doesn’t always heal—it sometimes hardens.
Sombr invites us into that hardened space, but instead of demanding resolution, he offers recognition. He says: the one who might’ve healed you wasn’t just them—it was the choices you made, the parts you lost, the waiting you did. And maybe the real act of healing starts when you realise you can’t hold that weight alone.