When the eyes of the world…
…are not fixed on you, your actions, even your grin – apparently this is when you move closer to the real you.
It’s quite the concept and possibly comforting if you’re at peace with what stands out in the solitude.
But, if you’re not?
She looked like a rough sleeper. Perched on a grimy bench. Restless energy. An ill-fitting dress. No shoes. And I only caught a glimpse as the light rail I was riding zipped past her scene-making.
And she was absolutely the star of a scene I couldn’t ignore.
Her fingers were flying over an imaginary keyboard. Typing. Typing. In fury. Frustration. Her accidental mime so descriptive, I could tell just by the way her hands sliced through the air, that she was forcing a typewriter’s carriage right and left, right and left, left, left!
Were the words not coming? Her thoughts tormenting?
It was a painfully fascinating tableau, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her in the few seconds it took for my tram to coast by.
She was lost in her own world. Oblivious to life unfolding. In her mind, no one was watching because she was totally alone…
Trapped in the cliché of writing a masterwork in a cabin somewhere? The supernatural satisfaction of art completed, eluding her? Was she was battling her muse, her mania or both?
Maybe the question isn’t, who are you when no one is watching, but…
Who are you when you are not seen?
© Phyllis Foundis 2026