The speaker is stuck in a familiar pattern: getting attached to someone who offers closeness in small doses and never follows through. He keeps promising things will change, but the speaker's faith wears thinner each time. What hurts most is how near they came before drifting apart, "like every other day."
The tone is tired and self-aware. The speaker sees the cycle clearly, admitting she falls for "these types of guys," the ones who give just enough attention to keep her hooked. She even tells herself she'll guard her heart this time, then admits "you never are" prepared. The shift from "I" to "you" makes it sound like she's talking to herself, or to anyone who has done the same.
The ending leaves a sting. "Or maybe it's the chase" suggests the longing itself might be the draw, not the person. It's a quiet, unresolved moment of honesty, and the mood is one of resignation mixed with a flicker of self-blame.