A spilled page does not mean it has been ruined. It's just another blank page which has been tainted by mistakes, scarred by regrets and rippled by living life to the fullest. The page is stronger, allowing the ink to soak in properly, making the marks permanent.
A slight dampness is felt as the page is being filled with the story of how its mistakes were made; how the sores became scars; how the ripples are memories being made page seems old before its time, wisdom of life prepares it for the aging process. Smells and sounds fill the grains of paper, the page reminiscences. The top corner curls up, remembering the good times and the naughtiness of certain decisions. Even though the page is connected by string to other pages, it still feels alone, isolated, different.
The spotless pages seem to judge it, eyeing it with raised lines, shocked straight by the tainted page's decisions.
As the cover of the book is being closed, the tainted page relaxes for another night of blindness, solitude, knowing the mistakes have taught, the scars have healed and the fun its had by living life to the fullest.