The Same Page

The book is waiting in the drawer,

same bent page, same blue underline.

I open it like I haven't before,

like the words will be different this time.

We fought about the same things.

You said what you always say.

So I came back here where hurt clings,

where hurt knows the way.

The motel room. The stain

on the ceiling like a state.

The nightstand drawer. The pain

of the page I keep coming back to, late,

opening to the same passage,

the same words, the same groove.

My hands carry this damage.

The blue line keeps me in the move

of coming back, leaving nothing,

staying nowhere, just turning

the page soft. I'm caught in this something

that feels like love but it's only

burning the same route again.

The same corner. The same bed.

I don't know how to not come back when

you fight, when I need the blue instead

of whatever comes next.