The speaker is stuck in a painful, confusing attachment. Everything circles back to the repeated phrase "it's shitty how this goes," which sounds casual and tired, as if the speaker has said it to themselves many times. A dream of happiness, with this person in it, ends the moment they wake up, and the loss feels as physical as smoke vanishing or breath leaving the lungs.
The memories are tender: a held hand, hair pulled back during sickness, someone checking in every hour. That gentleness makes the "no strings attached" line sound like a defense that isn't working. The speaker can't tell whether they want a fling or a whole life, and they try to pretend the other person has no hold on them. The ending lands on a quiet contradiction: the person wants the speaker, but doesn't want to be what the speaker needs. The mood is raw, bitter, and wistful, with plain, blunt language that fits the honesty of the feeling.