The poem opens with a simple gesture: a hand on the chest, feeling a heartbeat. That pulse proves you're alive, but the speaker adds a sharp twist, that being alive isn't the same as living. From there the poem turns to a "you" who had a chance at happiness one summer but forgot who they were and chased something else. The speaker suggests the old version of this person is gone, and only a hollow "you" remains.
The speaker's grief is personal, too. They admit they're hurt, they miss this person despite trying not to, and they can't understand why someone would want more when everything they needed was close by. The ending repeats the opening image, but now the hand is the speaker's own. The heartbeat is no longer a sign of life so much as something to cling to: "I convince myself that I'm alive." The mood is quiet, wistful, and lonely, with the repetition making the loss feel like it keeps circling back.