In quiet corners of our bustling world, lives an unspoken symphony. It's the hum of a thousand unsung songs; sung not by choirs, but by you, by me, by the bus driver tapping his steering wheel in rhythm, by the woman at the bakery humming something half-remembered. Somewhere, a saxophone croons in a dimly lit bar, notes slipping through the cracks of time.
These melodies do not chart, they do not trend. They exist in the pauses of conversation, in gestures, in the patience of a fisherman before the dawn breaks. They are the cacophony of life's ongoing saga, untitled, unmarketed, but profoundly real. Just listen closely before the songs fade into the ether.