He stands in front of the mirror, finishing off the tie for his tuxedo, thinking of the day ahead. As he adjusts his collar, he imagines how she will look. Surely she would pull her dark hair up in curls that would cascade down her narrow back. How he longed to touch run his hands through her hair at that moment.
The church towers before him, reaching up to the sky as if it longed to feel the warm embrace of its god. He sympathizes with the church, as he too longs for the soft touch of his personal goddess. He hopes she will wear something simple and understated so she shines brighter than the dress.
She is walking down the aisle, towards him. The light seems to illuminate behind her, as if she is an illusion … an angel.
Smiling, she walks past him, towards her awaiting groom. He keeps his composure, longing to be the man standing beside her.
The apartment lights are dim, as if they too feel sadness over the loss. So many missed chances lay behind him, clouding his past, clouding his eyes. A lone tear sheds down his face in remembrance of a future that will never exist. A lone tear falls for his lost opportunity.
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