A trusty friend by the bedside, With pages that hold dreams and thoughts inside. A place where pen and paper gently meet, For scribbles and stories, it's a cozy seat.

It may be done to your vision. You may store important and not so important stuff there. You may see one if you look up.

Why did the family picture go to prison?

I’m aged but not alive, I can crumble or I can thrive. Mice may chase me in their dreams, Yet I’m not quite what I seem.

I am a long, silver snake that bends but never breaks to bite. I spend my days gripping twins, triplets, or crowds, keeping them in perfect order. If you strip me of my second half, I am just a daily read. If you strip me of my first half, I am a trim or a movie scene. What am I?