The speaker keeps trying to write about someone but can never finish. Each attempt stalls halfway, and the poem compares this to typing a long paragraph, then realizing the other person wouldn't care and deleting it. That small, familiar image makes the problem feel very real: the words are written, then erased before anyone sees them.
The speaker offers two possible reasons. Maybe their feelings are fading. Maybe they've realized the person doesn't care and won't read any of it. Neither answer is confirmed, and the speaker seems unsure which is true, or perhaps afraid to choose. Then comes "whatever it is / i'm sorry," a short, tired apology that ends the poem without resolving anything.
The mood is quiet, flat, and a little sad. There's no anger here, only resignation. The casual style, with lowercase letters and plain phrasing, makes it feel like a private note never meant to be polished, which suits a poem about things left unfinished.