Or so it seems.
Looking past yourself
past lonely afternoons.
But then there is that little bell -
going off in your head,
that seems to tell you it is all just the angle
the shot is being taken from,
and you go on acting.
Till the day you realize that
the script is always going to be revised,
and all the scenes are so many celluloid leaves;
on the cutting room floor of life.
And all this time you thought you were the star,
but Buddha could have told you
that the more you wanted your image in frame -
the more you faded into the background.