There are days when the world seems to stand still on this tiny island, or stop even, as if it wants you to pause for a second and appreciate what it offers you.

It usually happens to me on Sunday mornings when I'm walking the dog around our quaint neighborhood of 100-year-old homes. I step outside our house, a modest shotgun-style house likely built around the turn of the 20th century for a cigar maker's family, into the bright January sun, wearing shorts and a light sweater. The streets and sidewalks are desolate; a few folks may pass by me quietly on bicycles and wave hello, likely on their way to church or brunch. There are no cars, no rowdy island visitors. It's just me and Avery, breathing a salty ocean air carried inland by coastal breezes. That's when I stop and think that I'm one of the lucky ones who has called Key West home.

That feeling comes over me at other times, too. When I'm spending an afternoon on a sandbar with my friends, surrounded by turquoise blue waters, for example. Or when my husband Noah and I enjoy an unobstructed view of the glowing orange sun as it dips below the horizon, while enjoying scallops and a bottle of wine from the deck of a harborside restaurant. It's happened dozens of time since we moved here in October 2008. During these moments, my mind tells me, "Wait a second. Take this all in. You won't ever want to forget this."

And I won't. I won't forget the unparalleled weather, historic architecture and peaceful lifestyle I've experienced here. Most importantly, I won't forget my friends and the people I've met who made this place a great place to call home, from my dear friends to the fellow who works at the meat counter at my corner grocery store to my lovely neighbors who "watch out for the place" when we leave for a weekend. The unofficial motto of Key West is "One Human Family," and you do feel like everyone here wants you to be happy, just like your own family members do.

Next month, Noah and I will be leaving Key West. We'll be back often, though, as anyone who's ever really lived and loved this island has pledged to do. And as we take our final drive north across the winding ribbon of highway through the Florida Keys, I'll want time to slow down, stop even, so I won't have to leave. But that feeling will pass, and time will start again, and I'll want to keep going. Final destination: Atlanta.

So long Key West. It's been real.