The speaker sits down to explain why they still love someone, and finds they can't. Words simply don't arrive. Then comes the quiet turn in the second stanza: the silence isn't a failure of language. The speaker realises they don't actually know the reason themselves.
That discovery is what gives the poem its feeling. The title, "letting go," suggests the speaker is trying to move on, yet the love hasn't gone anywhere. It lingers without a clear cause, which makes it harder to deal with. There is no argument to examine or dismantle, only the feeling itself.
The mood is hushed, a little bewildered, and gently sad. The short lines and plain wording make it feel like a thought caught mid-moment, and the full stop after "either" closes it with a small, resigned shrug. The poem seems to say that some love can't be justified, only admitted.