Cuts and Page Turns

A quick little sting, a flash of sharp pain,

a paper cut opened, like words caught in rain.

I pause in the stillness, the book lies ajar,

as ink spills with secrets that flicker from far.

The pages feel fragile, a map of our fears,

and this tiny reminder sparks countless tears.

Each line tells a story, each chapter a plight,

reminding me gently how shadows take flight.

That bright red line on my finger glows bold,

a punctuation mark, where tenderness’s told.

In the turn of the pages, where memories drift,

life cuts through the quiet, a bittersweet gift.