The speaker compares themselves to a bookmarked page: someone once cared enough to save their place, then never came back to read on. The title, "rumsoup," and the word "bookmark" in the subtitle frame the image, though the title's meaning isn't explained, so any reading of it is a guess.
The feeling is a quiet hurt. Being bookmarked suggests promise, as if the speaker mattered enough to be kept. But the person never "re read it," so that promise leads nowhere. It's the sting of being half-chosen, remembered just enough to be left waiting.
The missing hyphen in "re read" and the exclamation mark at the end give the line a slightly raw, unpolished tone. It sounds less like a carefully built complaint and more like something blurted out. The mood is wistful and a little accusing, with a hint of self-mockery. The speaker seems to know how small the complaint sounds, yet can't quite let it go.