Found this, thought it was interesting.

The door swung open around the corner behind me. I didn't look to see who it was. I couldn't stop staring at all these neatly packed bags on the floor, lining the hallway. There was no warning, but the sign was clear.

"Shit."

That sickening feeling began to rise in my throat and I knew I would throw up if the paralysis would leave for a minute.

I hate that feeling.

I sometimes try to go back and think of the worst moments in my life in order to recreate that sensation, just to remember. Nothing you can imagine or experience ever prepares you for that creeping feeling as the bile rises in your stomach, and you try to distinguish between logic and emotion. You will swear you're dead.

"I'm leaving."

She said it softly, but with a sincerity that made me know she wasn't joking. I turned around. Her eyes met mine briefly, then averted to the bags, then to the floor. Her arms hung by her sides, keys dangling from her right hand. Her blond hair was down and the expression on her face was a look of determination. God, she looked beautiful even then.

The movie reel starts. The individual frames begin to appear in a flashing pattern, quick enough for recognition, but too fast for comprehension.

Those nights, the affection, that day, her ring, those times.

The sun was beginning to set, creating a glare on the car hood. We were driving faster than we should be and neither of us could stop laughing. The things we said were no longer funny, and the phrases were over used, but it didn't matter. We were happy. She leaned over the console and put her head on my lap and her arm around my neck. She laid there facing upward, looking at me and laughing while I tried to look at the road long enough to drive in a straight line. This would come to be something she would do often--it was unique embrace for times when we were driving and she wanted to be close. Sometimes she would be angry at me, not saying a word, and then she would slowly crawl over towards my side of the car and find that spot where her body fit just right. Trying to be upset at that point was useless for us both.

"I'm so lucky to be with you," she said.

I almost wrecked. Does she feel it too? She made the statement with realization, not with the expectation that I simply want to hear those words. Yet I felt this way since we began spending time together. Short of the other "L" word, this was the most intense thing she could have said in that moment.

The afternoon had been conquered by us. And the memories of blankets, packed lunch, fruit, and the park we left were all floating in the air around us, struggling to keep up with the speeding car. The diamond-studded cross necklace I had just given her hung from her neck and she looked amazing. My insides were whirling, but I smiled and kept driving straight while we enjoyed the silence.

It was already beginning to feel like summer. The door was still open, and the air was warm even though the sun had been down for hours. I looked directly at her. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"What did you say," I asked.

"I said I'm leaving."

"What do you mean? Like you need some time to yourself?"

"I'm not coming back."

There are so many clichés about situations like this; "empty silence," "words hung in the air," or "heart stopping." Every fucking one of them would apply, yet none of them would do this moment justice. I began to play through the last few days and weeks in my head, frantically searching for a reason. I wanted to imagine this was the culmination of a massive fight we just had, but there was none. I wanted to imagine this was the result of something horrible I had done, but there wasn't anything.

I've always found it funny that as every evening wains, things seem bigger than they actually are. This was big, but it was too late to make decisions like this.

"Please stay--at least for tonight," I pleaded. "We can talk about this in the morning."

"I am done listening to you."

Her words were flat. She said them with an emptiness in her voice that I had never heard. This didn't make any sense at all. Something was wrong. This was not her attitude; this was not her body language, posture or tone of voice. Suddenly she had become someone different.