I choose no title here… Do not judge my schizophrenic mood, or actually do, it doesn’t make a difference.

So moving on, I turn to my own secret about Kareem.

You see, Kareem erases me. He looks at me questionably as he looks away from the book in hand, away from the “razor-shape” line endings, as he calls them, closing in on him. He moves with grace despite his claustrophobia and looks me straight in the eyes. I hear him start to say something, but his words are muffled, disguised under a discreet mumble.

He was never my prisoner, nor should he ever be looked upon in such a manner. If anything, Kareem is the prototype of  a free character who refuses to be written. Kareem merely wants to be part of the writing process. We can’t rob him of that can we? After all, it is only a very reasonable request. Kareem is aware that he has become an obsessive addiction. As he basks in the glory of his ego, I celebrate his arrogance, granting him his wish for the sheer pleasure and entertainment that that gives me.

Kareem, the floor is yours to do with it as you pleasure. But do not count on me to be a mere observer. After all, they are boring creatures, just like you said.

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