I smell like an old library book that has been kept behind a dusty shelf. However, when I was opened, I could smell the musty hands. They both remind me of hardships. I hear a commotion as they flipped open page 34, reminding me of the joy and commotion I used to receive when I was younger. The sound feels yellow. Around me, I see a couple pairs of eyes staring intently into my soul. Their hands touching every detail of me. I see the man's eyebrow furrow, but the biggest of all, I see all my friends from back then. Close up, I see the tired lines of their hands, probably from the hardships of a struggling career. The men just turned their head around in a quick motion. They mumbled a word or two to each other but I could not catch it over my dusty ears. A man with a familiar face walks through the wooden doors. Last night, I dreamt about the quill that was used to create parts of me. It had felt like decades and I had been reminiscing. Beyond the frame, I can see my other friends who have been left forgotten on the shelves. They look sad and long to be touched. In a couple minutes or so, I return to my original fate of sitting pretty on the shelf. While these minutes last, the gloomy weather and strong wind breathes some new life into me. 
Secretly, I have always wanted to be new.