I'd like to remember it differently

My last memory of your face was imprinted in the morning while laying in that luxurious hotel bed.

You rolled your eyes impatiently.

You were distant and in a hurry to leave.

The drive back to Worcester was tense and nearly silent.

And then, you were getting out of the car, not looking at me, closing the door, walking away.

That was the last time I saw you.

No words at all.