“I don’t wanna be your friend, I just wanna be your lover”
If there is a more perfectly expressed opening to a song so packed full of yearning than in House of Cards by Radiohead, I would love to hear it. That first line is a fucking brilliant example of using only a few words to tell a story. The rest doesn’t matter – the sentiment is categorically represented and my heart breaks again and again every time I hear it.
Damn, that song is so understated and beautiful.
I think there is a lesson to be learned here. If you are a male, and unrequitedly in love with someone, then take heed. If you are as good at vocalising your feelings as Thom Yorke is, then please write your words down and broadcast them from the top of some metaphorical building.
But, if you are not as eloquent, succinct, precise, humble, tender or in any other way as talented as Mr Yorke, then shut the fuck up. Nobody, and I mean literally not one single person, wants to hear your self-obsessed, fatalistic cries for reciprocated affection.
Don’t cry. Don’t whimper. Don’t hurriedly blog some woeful attempt at cryptic poetry, designed to both impress and upset. Leave it the hell alone and try to re-gather some degree of fortitude. If you don’t have the self-respect to suffer with dignity, at least suffer in silence.
Self-indulgence is one of the most over-abundant quantities around. We don’t need any more of it. Please, for the sake of everyone around you (and not least, yourself), man up.
yeah. well said.