At 3 am, sleepless and alone, the speaker aches for the touch of someone who isn't there. The line "You never were" quietly changes the picture: this isn't a lost love being mourned but a longing for someone the speaker has never actually held. The craving is built on imagination, or on hope.
The surprise comes near the end. Lying awake, the speaker realizes that once this person finally touches them, they won't be able to live without them. Instead of simply wishing for closeness, the speaker sees what it would cost: dependence, and the risk of losing something that matters too much. That's why the last line, "And that scares me," lands so plainly.
The mood is raw and hushed, like a thought admitted only in the dark. The short lines and the repeated "here" make the emptiness feel heavy, while the late-night hour sharpens both the loneliness and the fear.