I often accompanied my work breaks — and the moments in between — with music. Whatever drifted through my desktop, chosen by chance, always seemed to be something I liked, something I loved.

When a voice or a sound struck me, I would pause. I’d look at the artist’s cover, listening to the words she wasn’t saying, reading them inside the tone, following them into that intimate place where emotion and time intertwine — where everything happens, yet nothing is visible.

That’s how I looked at Ms. Baker. African‑American, wide eyes, a generous soul — and a gaze that revealed her entire journey. A look that said: where I arrived wasn’t easy; I suffered; but now I’m at peace.

And her songs confirmed it: Sweet Love, No One in the World, Same Ole Love. They carried echoes of my own life — the years wandering through the outskirts of Boston, trying to find my direction, learning the city through its voices, its kindness, its unpredictability.

What a life. And no, I wasn’t a painter.

The truth is, I would have loved to meet her. And who knows — maybe one day it will happen.

And maybe she’ll sing something just for me.

A song titled FOREVER.

Nando

I thought about accompanying her with a guitar and a mandolin.
But the only honest conclusion I reached was this: I would have simply taken her hand and kissed it shyly.