Cowardice Stories

Every single morning,For three weeks now or more.  You are sitting at the station, In the same place as before.  You never see my glances.  You never feel my eyes.  You never know how much I want, To hear your tender sighs.  My mind it starts to wander, As you lose yourself in books; A new one every day it seems,  oblivious of my looks.  You are not the world's best looker.  Your clothes are old and worn.  But you have ca...