The bells were ringing as people filed into the church. Then he saw her. She was dressed in an all-pink dress and she looked lovelier than the last time.
He wanted to approach her, to say how lovely she looked. He had loved her since the day he first set eyes on her. But she never noticed him, not even a fleeting glance.
He was a cripple who walked with a pronounced limp. There was no beauty at all about him. He felt like a Quasimodo to an Esmeralda.
Yet, he wanted to get to know her, to watch her smile more closely, to hear her voice, to hold her hand. But he was afraid. He was afraid of unrequited love, for he experienced too much of it in the past.
He wanted her to get to know him, his kindness, his wit, his pondering heart; to read his poems, his prose.
But he was afraid. So he looked away and walked out of the church.
The bells stopped ringing.