Hit The Wall.

He stared at his hands for a long time. He was having a hard time trying to explain himself. I couldn’t tell if it was because he knew that what he wanted to say would hurt me or because he really didn’t know what to say.
He jerked his head up, looked me in the eyes and turned away again. Opened his mouth, and choked on his words. Pressed his lips tightly together; he didn’t want me to see him cry. Swore under his breath, and tried again.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he said.
I sat back in my chair and inhaled smoke from my cigarette. I tapped the ash into the ashtray and exhaled.
“It’s okay. It’s not okay, but it’s okay.”
He put his head in his hands and said he was ready to leave. The tightness in my chest was overwhelming. Part of me didn’t want him to ever leave, the other part of me wanted him to get the hell out. I couldn’t believe how much I missed him already. He asked for a hug, and when we put his arms around me, I had never felt so close and so far away from somebody in my life.
I held the door for him, my hand shaking so uncontrollably that I turned it into a wave. He smiled at me with a last-look expression on his face, like he wasn’t planning on seeing me again for a long time. I stood up straight, returned the smile and eventually closed the door.
It wasn’t until then that I, for lack of a better phrase, “hit the wall”.