Two people have split up, and the speaker is left holding a stain. It starts as an ugly, awkward thing, tied to period blood, bad timing and a relationship full of clashing impulses. But by the end it has turned into the only physical trace of the other person's touch.
The speaker seems to feel a messy mix of grief, tenderness and regret. The image of a scent clinging to favorite clothes, even after the washing machine, shows how memory refuses to wash out. The water imagery suggests two people who kept colliding and drifting apart, even when they cared. Judging by the language of rebirth and vulnerability, the relationship also had moments of real closeness.
The mood is raw, intimate and quietly sad. The short, plain lines feel like fragments of memory, and the repeated "The Stain" works like a bruise the speaker keeps pressing. Something unpleasant becomes precious simply because it's all that remains.