you can't always decide to take me off of your shelves
and open me up like a book. i won't be the same as what i
once was. i will be creased and withered. i will be old and
dusty. my pages will fall out and rip. my color will fade and
my words will simply mean nothing. i'll become the one
that sits at the back of the shelf waiting to be opened only
to fall aprt in your hands.
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