Bronte Gallegos writes about unrequited longing, the kind that keeps a person awake at night. The speaker lies in bed hoping and praying that someone will turn and look at them lovingly, but it never happens. Each new hope ends in the same disappointment, and the plain, repeated phrasing makes the waiting feel worn down and tired.
The speaker admits they don't understand why this person affects them so strongly. That confusion matters: the feeling seems bigger than any explanation they can give. There is also a memory in the background, since they wish to be held "again," which suggests they once knew that closeness and now miss it.
The last image is the most striking. What we've seen is only "the tip" of an "ever melting iceberg," so the feelings run far deeper than what is said. The word "melting" adds a gentle sadness, as if the emotion is slowly spilling out. The mood is quiet, vulnerable, and aching.