He looked out the window; the sun was setting. Hurriedly, he packs his things as he knew she was going to be home soon. Open on his bed was a photo album he made her, of all the pictures they ever took, with details of what they did on that day. Where they went, what they ate, what they saw and what they talked about; as far as he could remember anyway.
Tears rolled down his acne-ridden face, he stared longingly at the pictures wishing it didn't have to end this way. He put the things she gave him on the dressing table; it was too painful to bring them with him when he left. The cologne, the letters and the ring that they both had – they lay in a small box on the table marked, "Yours, to be disposed of if you want to."
He flipped through the pictures silently, looking at each one individually, trying hard to remember the day they took it; it was the last time he wanted to. The letter he wrote her lay in an envelope on the table, with some last minute scribbling on the edge: "I'm sorry."
It was not the ending he hoped for, not the "'til death to you part" that he thought of. So abruptly, so fast and so hard did it hit him that it was impossible for him to react any other way. Blocking things out was what he did best, but as hard as he tried, nothing seemed to work.
He hadn't been eating right for the past week, sleeping less than a couple of hours a day, and drowning himself in music and work. The desktop on her desk was playing The Way You Look at Me by Christian Bautista on repeat. The background was a picture of them before this, but he removed that and deleted all his files.
Now done packing, he stood up, his collar wet from the tears, and walked towards the door. He looked at the room for one last time. Out the window, kids were being called in by their parents; it was getting dark very soon. The photo album lay on the table, underneath all the other things he left behind for her. He still didn't want it to end, but he knew her mind was made up. Shutting the door behind him, he took his slow walk home, as he always does. This time, however, there was no one telling him to get home safe, and no one keeping him company via sms.