I am a textbook. Knowledge you will gain if you open and look. The children of yesterday. Ignored me to go out and play. What can I say about today. These children look at screens all day. Some people liked holding me. There was a certain joy in owning me. Dispayed proudly on some book shelf. Of their personality and interests, their own selves. With pride, they'd display as a reflection. Caressing every page with such affection. There were some who'd look at me with respect. Some others would draw lines, add summaries and correct. Like hand-me-downs, I'd teach the younger ones. From the elder kids, they'd keep circulating me; it was so fun. But now I lie in a desolate library. My binding has fallen apart, will you rescue me?
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