The speaker is alone after a relationship has ended, and keeps trying to talk themselves out of memories that still feel real. Each stanza begins with the same line, "It's now me, again, as always," like a door shutting on the same empty room. Then come the doubts. The speaker thought they heard a promise of staying, maybe even "three, simple, precise" words, and felt something wet on their cheek that was probably just a cold tear of their own. In the third stanza they go further, telling themselves that warm touches were really burns and loving winks were only eye twitches.
The mood is bitter, tired, and lonely. The speaker seems to be rewriting happy moments as illusions so the loss will hurt less, but it doesn't work. What's left of the other person has "turned sour," yet they still can't forget. The short final line, "Now, alone," lands with a flat, quiet finality.