The speaker is holding onto a hope they can't quite let go of. They admit that "a part of me" still believes their ex is their soulmate, and that phrasing matters: it suggests the rest of them may know better, while one stubborn piece keeps insisting. They imagine the other person isn't gone for good, just "lost," as if they took a wrong turn and will eventually wander home.
That small act of excusing the person, treating the leaving as confusion rather than a choice, shows how much the speaker wants to believe. The short, broken lines feel hesitant, almost like someone talking quietly to themselves.
The last line, set apart with a tilde, changes the mood. "How long will that take?" lets a tired, honest doubt slip in. The hope is real, but so is the exhaustion of waiting. The poem leaves us in a tender, aching place between longing and the fear that waiting may go nowhere.