Timeless Tale, Timely Forgotten
I was born in a factory, surrounded by siblings, identical and countless. My pages were blank, waiting for the stories that would define me. A writer's pen danced across my sheets, infusing me with life. I was meant to inspire, educate and entertain. I entered the library, surrounded by fellow books, each with its own tale. Readers' fingers traced my spine, and I longed to be chosen. A young student opened me, revealing my pristine pages. Her eyes sparkled as she devoured my words. I felt purposeful. Years passed. The student graduated, and I remained, untouched. Dust accumulated, and my once-vibrant cover faded. New books arrived, and I was pushed back, forgotten. My pages yellowed, and my words seemed lost forever. A cataloging error relegated me to the library's depths. Shelves hid me from view, and I disappeared from circulation. Decades passed, and the world outside changed. My knowledge became outdated, my stories deemed irrelevant. No fingers opened me now. No ...