WHEN THE MUSIC STOPS; The Lost Busker

Insomnia has a funny way of making you reflect on the most unexpected things. Maybe it’s the quiet of the night, or the stillness of your surroundings that forces you to appreciate what’s been left unsaid or undone.

Many years ago I used to work in the city, at times, when I wasn’t running late due to a terrible night’s sleep, I would choose the scenic walk to the office through its historical heart - half lost in thought, half hoping for something more. On occasion, I was lucky enough to hear a beautiful young woman sing Ave Maria. Her voice was flawless, effortlessly lifting the mundane into something magical. To call her a busker would be akin to referring to the Mona Lisa as a doodle. But regardless of label, It was a reminder that beauty, when it appears, often does so quietly.

Then, one day, the music stopped. She never came back, and the square felt emptier for it. I like to think she’s off somewhere, still singing, sharing her gift with the world. But her absence was a gentle nudge that everything, even the most beautiful moments, are fleeting.

So, let’s take pause. Notice the magic tucked into the corners of our daily grind. The world has its own quiet symphony, but you’ve got to tune in before it fades. One day, the music will stop for all of us. But until then, let’s be grateful for every note.

To the anonymous songstress, wherever you are—thank you. You were heard. You were unforgettable.