Dare to ask | On a hot and sweaty Monday afternoon, in a tucked-away, almost empty cafe in Kreuzberg, it finally happened. The question I‘d always wanted to ask a stranger in a cafe, but had never dared, was asked of me. “Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you,” he began. “What are you writing?”
The question was harder to answer than I thought. I blabbered incoherently about three pages and writing by hand, trying hard not to use the words “musings” and “life.” I might’ve said something about the subconscious mind, which makes me cringe now. I wished I had a pre-packaged witty reply to whip out of my pocket; I‘ll need to work on that.
Mercifully, the conversation stumbled past its rocky start, and eased into a warm and pleasant flow about writing, poetry, music, and Berlin.
Because a stranger dared to ask me, I owe it to myself: the next time, instead of hiding behind my imagination, I will dare to ask, too.
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