2d • General discussion
The page that holds you
The Page That Holds You
My mind clouds over
each time I try to change the lens—
emotions smudge the margins,
blurring what I meant to see.
I keep returning to the same worn page,
creased by touch,
heavy with the story of hurt,
of rejection,
of being told—without words—
you are not enough.
How does one get stuck
reading the same paragraph of pain,
never quite believing
the page can be turned,
never trusting that the story
can be rewritten?
This chapter knows my name too well.
It whispers abandonment,
replays failures I scripted in fear,
and calls them truth.
I long for validation
from the very hands
I struggle to release—
hands that bruised,
hands that taught me
to doubt my own worth.
I carry missing pages inside me,
some torn away,
some so faded from repetition
they barely exist at all.
Still, I read them
a million times in my head,
afraid that if I stop,
I will disappear with them.
This page haunts me—
a scene from an outdated movie,
looped endlessly,
forgotten by those who once starred in it,
yet etched into my bones.
My voice wants to rise,
but my lips feel sewn shut,
threaded with silence,
trained to swallow cries
before they can breathe.
I keep running the same track,
circling pain like a familiar home,
never daring the unbeaten path—
the one rumored to hold
rest,
peace,
joy,
happiness.
Instead, I return to the ache,
binding my own feet,
afraid that being different
will cost more than staying wounded.
But today, I see it—
the page that holds me
is outdated and torn,
its ink bleeding into places
it no longer belongs.
So how do I break these chains
of missing letters
and bruised paper?
Today, I begin gently.
I lay these words on a new page.
I loosen my grip on the one
handled and reread
day after day.
As the ink dries,
I learn—slowly, trembling—
to turn the page.
And with each breath,
I step into the pages of life,
writing brightness where there was shadow,
love where there was lack,
light where the story once told me
I could not be.
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The page that holds you
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