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Introduction
Closeness that still fails
There's a particular loneliness in knowing someone deeply and still feeling like you can't reach them. That's exactly where "over anything" plants its flag from the first line. Midrift opens with what sounds like intimacy and then immediately undercuts it, turning a declaration of closeness into a quiet plea for help.
The song is about the exhaustion of shapeshifting for someone else. The narrator isn't angry. They're worn down, asking to be released from feelings they can't shake while also trying to become whatever the other person needs. Those two things can't coexist forever, and that tension is what the whole track is built on.
Verse 1
Knowing someone, still lost
The opening sets up the central contradiction fast.
"You know me better than anyone / And I will try to / Silently contemplate my time"
The mutual knowing here should be comforting. It isn't. Instead of closeness leading to relief, it leads to silence and internal processing. "Silently contemplate" is the posture of someone who doesn't feel safe saying what they actually feel out loud, even to the person who supposedly knows them best.
Then comes the ask: "Help me get over anyone." Not this specific person, not a situation. Anyone. It's vague in a way that feels deliberate, like the narrator is trying to depersonalize the pain just enough to survive it.
Pre-Chorus
Covering for someone's damage
The shift here is important. The narrator stops asking for help and starts describing what they've been doing all along.
"You can tell me anything, and I'll try / To cover up and your [?] and all your lies"
Even with the unclear word in the lyric, the meaning lands. This person has been covering for someone, absorbing their dishonesty, trying to make space for their flaws. That's not love at its healthiest. That's someone bending themselves into a shape that protects the other person at their own expense.
Asking for help getting "over anyone" right after this isn't just about romantic feelings. It's about wanting to stop being the kind of person who does this.
Chorus
The shape-shifting request
The chorus is where the emotional cost becomes clearest.
"Help me be / Everything / That you need me to be / But I can't feel you"
That last line breaks the whole thing open. The narrator is actively trying to mold themselves to someone else's needs and still can't close the gap. The disconnection isn't for lack of effort. It's structural. No amount of becoming will fix it.
"But I can't feel you" isn't accusation. It reads more like confession, like admitting something they've been afraid to say. All that effort and the other person still feels absent, unreachable, somewhere behind glass.
Verse 2
Feelings the other person doesn't see
The second verse flips the dynamic slightly. Up until now the narrator has been trying to be understood. Here they pull back.
"You don't know all the things I can feel / But I won't try to violently take the things you know"
There's something striking about "violently take." It implies that forcing understanding, demanding to be seen, would feel like an act of aggression in this dynamic. The narrator has internalized the idea that asserting their emotional reality is too much, too forceful. So they don't. They just carry it.
This is the quietest kind of self-erasure. Not dramatic, not explosive. Just choosing silence over conflict, over and over, until you've disappeared a little.
Outro
Repetition as unresolved ache
The outro cycles back through the same phrases, "anything," "anyone," "everything," layering them without resolution. It doesn't arrive anywhere new. That's the point.
The song ends where it started, still asking to get over it, still trying to be everything, still unable to feel the other person. The loop isn't lazy songwriting. It's the sound of someone stuck, running the same emotional math and getting the same answer.
Conclusion
"over anything" is about the gap between closeness and connection, and how devastating it is when those two things refuse to meet. The narrator has done everything right by someone who either can't or won't show up in return. They've covered the lies, absorbed the distance, tried to become whatever shape the relationship needed.
What Midrift captures so quietly here is that the hardest part isn't the betrayal or the distance. It's realizing you've been asking to be helped out of something while still doing everything to stay in it.
