His skin softly spells the words of a song she thought she'd long forgotten.  The words form between her fingertips as she types and she's no longer typing the memo for Michael. 

I need you so much closer..

She remembers the day, in a different lifetime.  He offered her a song from his iPod, and that night she couldn't sleep.  She knew he was trying to tell her something.  She always knew these things.  It took her four days to stitch her resolve back together.  And she hasn't listened to the song since. 

Somehow the words were in her ears again.  But it was different this time.  This time, it was worse.  This time, the words were hers. 

The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door have been silenced forever more.
The distance is quite simply much too far for me to row, it seems farther than ever before
Oh no… I need you so much closer.. 

When the phone rings she startles alive and she knows what she has to do.

So come on..come on.. 

She gets up from her chair, the echo from the phone bouncing through the room.  She can hardly steer herself to his desk when the ringing stops and everything is silent but the words. 

So come on..Come on.. 

He's rifling through papers filled with words but say nothing at all.  He pretends he understands them until she stands beside him and the words disappear and the pages are blank.  She asks for his iPod.

"You have got to hear this song, trust me."  His words, spoken from her lips. 

"Ok sure, I'd love-" He stops when he realizes she isn't adding a new song for him to listen to, she's scrolling through his playlists.  He opens his mouth to ask a question but the words pile together and can't quite make it out of his mouth. 

He's listening to the song, a song he's listened to countless times.  It drummed in his ears for years.  It was his song. 

She's returned to her desk.  He turns to look at her; in her eyes he sees the same tragedy that emanated from his own reflection for years.  It still does, though he doesn't admit it.

I was standing on the surface of a perforated sphere
When the water filled every hole.
And thousands upon thousands made an ocean,
Making islands where no island should go.
Oh no...  

When her eyes plead into his, his heart is stunned awake and he knows what he has to do.

The Atlantic was born today, and I'll tell you how,
The clouds above opened up, and let it out.

For nearly a year he kept his feelings sealed inside a box and hidden in a dark corner.  The box remained out of sight so long he'd forgotten where to find it, until Pam approached him with a song and a truth.  It then appeared so suddenly, his foot caught and he stumbled over top of it.  Its contents came spilling out, flooding around his body, carrying him to Karen's desk. 

He asks to come over later tonight, his inflection failing to hide the emotions trembling inside his chest and collecting behind his eyes.  There are too many to make out, so she simply nods an affirmation and watches him walk back to his desk.  She shakes her head a couple of times to loosen the doubt and fear, and lets herself get back to work.       

That night, he stands outside her apartment, his hand clenched into a fist, hovering over the 212 on her door.  His feet dig into the welcome mat, holding his body upright and keeping him still.  He's unable to move for several minutes, afraid to see the hurt he's about to cause.  He feels a slight breeze on his back, the warm air curls over his shoulders and slows down his heart.  He exhales slowly, and his fist finally meets the door.     

Karen fumbles with the lock and swings the door open.  Her lips shape into a greeting until the grief in his face knocks the words straight down into her stomach.  For a minute she can't breathe.  She's not sure she wants to.  She looks up at him, wanting him to speak, but hoping he doesn't.      

He rifles through but can only find two words.

"I'm sorry."

She exhales and it burns in her throat.  She had offered him her heart, and now he's come to tell her he can't accept it.  She wishes he would take it anyway, so he could feel the pain that's pushing against her ribcage and coursing through to her knuckles, white and numb from gripping the door handle. 

And she knows he would, too, if he could, making his apology sting even more.

"I never -"

"I know." The first time she says it, it's a hasty interruption.  The second time, it comes out as a soft surrender.  "I know." 

She does know.  He came into her life cracked, missing pieces.  She thought she could fill the holes, but with each piece she tried, another would fall and shatter at her feet.  He'd encouraged her, desperately at first, but eventually fell silent.  Now he stands before her, taking the pieces away.

"Go." 

He watches the word escape from her mouth and crumble at his feet.  It's a plea, a command, an admission of defeat.  Their eyes meet and he stands frozen in front of her, as if he thinks he could take away the pain if he stood on her porch long enough. 

He could, though, if the look in his eyes wasn't one of guilt and remorse.

"Ok."

His hands fall to his pockets and he turns to walk down the stairs.  Each step shakes her foundation until she finally falls over, her muscles too weak to pull herself back up.  She hears his car start in the parking lot below as she pushes her palms into the floor, trying to stop the shaking.  The sound of the tires against the gravel rings in her ears and she lets out a long sigh. After a few minutes she collects herself and finds the strength to stand up again. 

She brushes her fingers through her hair, dries the tears on her face, and closes the door.