Three short lines carry a quiet admission: the speaker has tried for years to erase someone and hasn't managed it. The poem doesn't say who "you" is, whether a lost lover, a friend, or someone else, and that vagueness lets the feeling stand on its own without a backstory.
What stands out is the word "weakness." The speaker doesn't call this memory a treasure or a wound. It's something they see as a failing in themselves, as if moving on were a test they keep losing. The phrase "this many years" suggests a long stretch of time, and the slightly unusual grammar gives the line a plain, unpolished honesty, like someone speaking without dressing up their feelings.
The mood is tired and resigned rather than dramatic. There's no anger or pleading, just the calm of someone admitting that the person still lives in them. The brevity makes the confession feel even heavier, because nothing is left to soften it.