I sit with a book,

Filled with familiar pages,

In my hands as I look

Back through the years.

I was quieter when

I first held it, one of many,

I knew more books than people then,

And probably still do.

I speak more now,

And have more friends;

I care more about how

They have been.

I still sit quietly in the classroom,

Most likely still reading,

But now I have made room

For the real, not fictional, friends.