He sat on the corner of the little, old coffee shop
Watching her every morning as she walked in and out.
Polished and clean, everything he could never be,
He sat from a distance, never uttering a word.
Just strumming his guitar, a beautiful melody

Her heels clicked past him, every morning at seven o’clock,
Never a minute late, never interrupting her routine.
And all he could do was watch and smile at her precise style,
As he lived uncertain from day to day.

He played his song every day,
In his mind it was written just for her.
Until one cloudy day she stopped,
Just for a moment; a pause in her routine.

She brought him a coffee, and told him she loved his song.
But she wouldn’t stay long,
She couldn’t be late.
Maybe it was written for her, but it wasn’t meant to be.
She was stuck in her routine, unable to break free.