At times you borrowed me, then bought me, kept me and then sold me. You read each sentence and word got engraved, in your mind and you lost interest in my pages. So, you never read me again..thats when you thought to sell..and someone did agree to pay aprice..and now I am getting resold..each page a story..you remember those and so does everyone who knew me..and you..behind the glass panel I stayed collecting dust my story line was not spicy nor intriguing..it was simple and plain..like the name..Simple Jane..you forgot who wrote..or how was it written..the only thing of value was you enjoyed while you were discovering and once you did.I was left un-read unfinished..but am I a book or a friend..I know books are best friend they teach you and remain silent, is with you when everyone else has left..but then..you are not my friend..for you leave me when others come in and you never let me talk or speak in another’s presence..I am your friend..but you are not..for you only use me..and dispose me..like a tissue paper..or a burned match stick that was useful but no more..so just flip it and out it goes 
