Dear Jim,

Wow, where do I begin? I knew I had to write you this letter, but for some reason the words just won't come out. Ironic, huh? Considering all I said last night, you'd think this would be easy. But it's not. Ok, ok, so what am I trying to say? This I guess: I'm sorry.

Except, I'm not. I mean, I'm sorry for putting you on the spot like that. Especially in front of everyone. That probably wasn't the best timing. Heh, more irony. Guess it's just something about us, huh? And there I go again, wandering away from the point.

I'm not sorry for saying what I did. I meant every word. It sucks not being your friend. Not only were you my best friend in the office, I honestly can't remember having a closer friend than you. And I know you wanted more than that last year, and now that I think about it, it probably hurt to hear me say it, but me saying "you're my best friend," translates into "I love you" in Pam language. So that's it. That's what last night was about. Me finally saying, "I love you, Jim."

So I'm not sorry for that. I know you're probably royally pissed at me, and I don't blame you, but know this, I had to say it. Because I'm tired of trying to deny the fact that I hurt. I hurt. Losing you hurts like hell. But I know you're with Karen, and I guess you're happy, and as long as you're happy, I can live with that. I guess the heart of what I'm trying to say here is, yes, I hurt, and yes, everything sucks, but what I didn't make so clear last night was this: it's ok. I miss you like hell, but I don't want to screw up your life, what you have going on. Karen is a great girl, you're actually moving up in this job. And I'm actually going for what I want. I'm on my way to being a great artist someday. Granted, I've got a long ways to go, but I'm headed there. It took me a while, but I'm finally going for my dream. All this time I've been trying to move on, like you obviously have, but last night, I finally let go. And admitting all of that hurt like hell, but for the first time, I feel free. Is this why you came back? To show me that it is possible to love, get your heart broken and move on stronger than ever?

Good luck with your interview on Thursday. I know you can get that position in corporate. You deserve it. You're a strong person, Jim. You hid it well, with all the pranks and apparent slacking off, but you're strong, you moved on first. Thank you, for everything.

Love Sincerely Love,

Pam

Pam dropped the pen onto her desk and quickly stuffed the paper now wrinkled from her tears into a plain white envelope without so much as a glance over what she'd written. She had to hurry, people would start showing up for work in just a few minutes. The letter to Michael tendering her resignation already sat on his desk. She'd written that one first, it was much easier to write.

She took her time to write "Jim" on the envelope, in her best handwriting. She placed it on the keyboard on his desk, making sure to align it so it lay perfectly parallel to the keys. Wiping the last of her tears from her eyes, Pam turned her back on the desk, left the office, and pressed the Down button on the elevator.

She couldn't hold back the involuntary gasp as the elevator doors opened to reveal an exhausted-looking Jim. His eyes were red and puffy, I probably don't look much better. He stepped off the elevator and opened his mouth as though he wanted to speak, but no words came. Not allowing herself time to think, she wrapped her arms around his waist and held him as though her life depended on it. "Bye, Jim," she whispered into his chest, so soft, she was pretty sure he didn't hear it. And as quickly as she had hugged him, she let go, before he even had a chance to react. She hopped onto the elevator and watched as the doors closed on his back, close on her life as receptionist at Dunder-Mifflin, close on the man who had taught her to really live her life. When the doors opened to the lobby, she had a smile on her face and for the first time in a long time, she walked straight and tall out the doors of Scranton Office Park.

Jim slowly walked into the office and made his way to the desk. His eyes fell on the stark white envelope labeled "Jim." Picking it up, he inspected it, unable to tear his eyes away from the simple three-letter word. He lowered himself into his chair. He wiped his face with hand, and stood up again, walking over to Pam's desk. With a final glace at the unopened letter in his hand, he dropped it into the wastebasket behind her chair. Clearing his throat, he walked back to his desk, looked at his list of customers, and picked up the phone. He punched in the numbers, and after a pause, " Hello, Mr. Decker? It's Jim Halpert from Dunder Mifflin, your paper supplier. How are you today?"