The speaker begins with a firm vow: they will never fall for this person again. But the certainty barely lasts a line. "Or maybe i will" cracks it open, and the next lines slide further, from "maybe i already have" to the suspicion that the vow itself is just a story they tell themselves. By the end, "never again" doesn't sound like a decision anymore. It sounds like a habit, something repeated because it has to be.
The most telling line is the one about the first day: they have been saying "never again" since the moment they fell. That suggests the feeling and the warning arrived together, and the warning has never worked. The repeated "maybe" gives the poem a restless, uncertain mood, and the lack of capital letters and punctuation makes it feel unguarded, like a thought half-whispered. The title, with its discarded flowers, hints at an attempt to throw something away, though the poem itself shows how hard that is. It's tired, honest, and quietly sad.