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.