He doesn’t exactly want to go back to Scranton, but he can’t help but hold out hope. He can’t seem to let that last little bit go. He can’t help but wonder.

He does it for himself. For those who dwell on the past because the future holds no promises. His past is cracked concrete blocks with Pam all over, weighing him down; his future is still wet cement, waiting for hand prints and names to be carved before it dries.

He can’t hope, it didn’t work last time. He doesn’t want to hold onto the old flame, in hope that she won’t blow it out this time.

It’s okay though, he holds the memories close. As much as it hurts, he was happy then. There were good moments.

He finds himself hoping the cement oozes back together when he writes Karen.