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      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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