How do you write a paragraph about yourself as abandoned textbook?

My spine is cracked, my pages dog-eared and stained with forgotten coffee rings. The vibrant cover, once a bold declaration of knowledge, is now faded and peeling, a testament to years spent gathering dust on forgotten shelves. I remember the feel of eager hands turning my pages, the frantic underlining of key passages, the scent of youthful ambition clinging to my brittle leaves. But those days are long gone. Now, I'm relegated to the damp corner of a charity shop, a silent witness to the ceaseless flow of donated detritus, longing for the touch of a curious mind, a chance to impart the wisdom that still resides, imperfectly, within my aging pages. My knowledge might be outdated, my binding weak, but my stories remain, waiting to be rediscovered.