the busker

AMAYA

Every morning is the same. The same routine. The same breakfast of vegemite on wholemeal toast, the same walk to the train station, the same people on the trains contemplating their monotonous lives, and Amaya was one of them. She used to sit on the trains and watch the people imagining the stories of those around her, the way she did when she entered an op shop and observed those old trinkets that had their own past. Amaya was known for her wicked imagination and was often off in daydreams and used to find comfort in things such as the rain (her name did mean ‘night rain’, after all) and the gaze of a stranger. Now, however, there were only the same people on the train every day and each one of their stories had already been whispered to her imagination.
Amaya’s life had become monotonous and the magic that once sparkled in her eyes had faded and now the days just passed her by, like a star falling from the heavens; without its glow. She was an empty shell of her former free spirited self.
She had seen too much trauma and hurt and pain in this world – the world that she once looked at with wonder and a sense of hope and freedom.
She studies social work and has seen how human behaviours can be distorted into pure malevolence, like a slash to the throat of society, exposing raw flesh and bone, leaving the insides vulnerable to infection and the likely chance of a painful death.
There was little optimism and working within the legal systems made it almost impossible to offer any form of antidote to those who suffered.
The world was ugly and there was no more hope.

TYNAN

He was a musician. He was a poet and the beauty he saw around him was transformed into metaphors and expressed by the soft music spilling from his mouth when he sang, and his guitar when he plucked skilfully at the strings.
Tynan told stories that remind you of fairytales and stories of the simple raw pleasures that life brings to those who are patient enough to enjoy them. He wasn’t wealthy and he only earned money by selling poetry here and there and by sharing his music on the busy streets of Melbourne city, busking for change. He didn’t need more. This was his passion and what he enjoyed the most in the world. He gets to express himself creatively and bring joy (or even a small smile) into all those who pass him, even if only for a fleeting moment. This is where he first saw her.
He watched her walk past him everyday. She had long raven hair, full red lips and these piercing green eyes that resembled the colour of emeralds or the green of a forest after it rains. She always wore quirky thrift store clothes which were slightly mismatched but that fall together nicely on her shapely body. The way she moved was like a dance – leaving an invisible spell trailing behind her, casting a glow around all those in her presence. He could see that she was blatantly unaware of her own unique beauty; beauty like the night rain. That’s what he decided to call her the first time he noticed her – his midnight rainstorm.

He knew then and there that she was the love of his life; the Juliet to his Romeo, the bright glowing stars to his night sky, the oxygen to his lungs, and the blood to his veins. He couldn’t live without her. He imagined what it would be like to be with her, to wrap his arms around her waist, to kiss her, and feel her smooth tender touch against his flesh. To speak poetry with her, and cook with her, have picnics with her, and dance with her.
He could see that she had a magical soul that was wounded and polluted by the world, leaving her lost and confused.
He wanted to give her some part of his soul, so that she could heal and find peace and beauty once more, so he began work on a song, spilling his heart over the sheets of music, working its way into musical notes, melodies and poetic metaphors.

AMAYA AND TYNAN

As every day before this, she pushed her way off the train and headed in the direction of her classes. Numb to everyone around her and her senses muted, she stepped onto the escalators moving up towards the exit.
She reached the top and something seeped into her empty mind and broke her from the familiar trance she was in. Music; music unlike anything she had ever heard before pumped through her veins, giving life to her recently sluggish beating heart. Her pulse quickened and she turned in the direction of the sound.
That was when she saw him.
His curly brown hair fell softly over his sharp Mediterranean features. His eyes were gentle and blue like hidden rock pools at the beach, and deep like the ocean itself. She could see straight into his soul where she sensed a spirit so wild that couldn’t be tamed. Inside there was also a thirst for life and adventure, and she recognised it to be similar to what she once harboured in her soul also.
He was wearing simple clothing, a simple black t-shirt that defined his soft muscular form, simple blue jeans that were ripped at the knees and old black Chuck Taylor high-tops.
He was beautiful to her, like a Grecian God and in an instant she fell in love.
He had provided the elixir for her soul and the music spoke solely to her, as if it had been written for this purpose. She stood there watching him with wide eyes, taking in all the senses that she closed off, rushing inside her like the opening of a floodgate.
He looked up from his guitar, their eyes meeting for the first time. Conversations flowed silently between them as people rushed passed them on their way to work.
They said nothing aloud and yet everything was said. She knew him inside and out and knew that she never wanted to be far from this beautiful individual. That’s when he stood up, wrapped his strong arms around her and kissed her passionately. Suddenly the world was once again beautiful in her eyes, and she could see the poetry in everything around her.



photography by http://hokwong.deviantart.com/