Coffee house conversation

Unsure where to go from here, I sit and look at someone, a girl, who seems to be doing the same thing. On a break from her book, processing what she'd read. I'm tired, but trying to progress, I tell her as much. "Things seem simple and I'm scared that I'm not doing it right, " I lean over and tell her. "I'm not doing enough and that's why there is an ease about this. If I had too much to do, something to fulfill my time, I wouldn't be sitting here scribbling thoughts, I'd be struggling to make matters more."
"Very well," she tells me. "You took a wrong turn somewhere. Chosen a path not yet cleared and are apparently lost."
"But what is lost, really?" I answer back. "And, am I wandering or just exercising possibilities?"
"Don't get lazy on me," she replies as if knowing my work ethic. "This isn't the way it was supposed to be."
"Then, how was is to be by now? Is my uncertainly making me insane or are these questionable times part of a phase of finding?"
"Don't look at me for the answers. I don't seem to be doing much better. Or much at all. Why do you compare yourself to me?"
"You're right. I shouldn't do this." So I stop and now just look at her, not for inspiration, but for fictitious thoughts, sights I store for later. And this makes me feel better.
"I'm just me. Just here and just alone to figure it out, too."
"But you are here with me. If you weren't then who would hear, who will read what I write?"
"It doesn't matter. I speak for myself, and not that much at all."
"But I, I write to be read, to get the words out of my head -- the voice -- onto paper, and for the record. I want you to read. When it's read by others, then I'm heard."
"I will still question what you really mean."
"I know. I wonder myself, if what I'm doing here is time well spent or me just making matters worse."
"Just in time, you will have learned your lines and this won't seem so much like a rehearsal, but the real deal."
And with that, she put her book in her bag and walked outside into the rain. I watched her from the window walk around the corner and on with her life.

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