On Wednesday night Marsha made it to the Dunder-Mifflin office just in time to grab letters from Jim and Pam out of their trashcans and take them with her to the bathroom. She wanted to read Jim's letter once before leaving it for Pam, but she knew she wouldn't have time to do it out in the open before everyone else arrived.

Marsha didn't know what was wrong with her. She wasn't nearly as excited about reading these letters as she usually was. Maybe it was that she was starting to get used to reading them, or maybe she was just feeling more and more guilty about invading Pam's privacy, now that she had met Jim—or maybe it was that she felt like she really shouldn't be involved in other people's romantic lives when she couldn't even come up with one of her own.

Since when had she become this person? She hadn't always been so depressingly alone. Back when she and Tony had first gotten together, she would have laughed in the face of anyone who suggested that she would one day spend her nights cleaning offices and her days reading love letters she had salvaged from the garbage.

She didn't want to think about Tony right now. He'd called the other day to check up on her. But what was she supposed to say? Nothing had changed since they'd last talked. And she was sure her kids still wanted nothing to do with her, they'd made that very clear over the years.

She read through Jim's letter quickly. He had written it when he was turning thirteen—the same age her son Sean would turn this year. She stuffed the letter back in the envelope as Henni started calling for her. As bad as it sounded, she didn't really want to think about Sean right now either.

After they'd finished cleaning Marsha made sure she was the only one left in the office before slipping envelopes under Jim and Pam's keyboards. She wondered how long she would have to keep delivering these before Jim and Pam figured out what was going on. It wasn't like she wanted to stop reading their letters, but eventually she hoped they'd come to their senses and just talk to each other, even if that meant she was no longer part of the process. With a sigh, she turned off the lights and locked the door.

She actually forgot all about Pam's letters until she was lying in bed that night. Flicking the light back on, she dug around in the pocket of her work pants for the two scraps of paper she'd found in Pam's trash.

Dear Jim,

I love how just writing those two words makes me smile. I don't think you really understand how much I love you. Well, wait, I'm pretty sure you don't understand at all because I haven't told you yet. But even if I did tell you, I'm not convinced that you'd really get it.

Was this what it was like for you? Did you love me like this when I was engaged to Roy? How did you deal with it? Because sometimes it just hurts so much that I wonder if it's worth it, but other times I know that even if I had a choice I'd still choose to love you no matter how much it hurts because it's worth it just to know that I love you. Does that even make sense? I mean, I guess what I love is being so sure that I'm in love with you. I've never been this sure about anything else, and it's just such a good feeling to know that I love you and that there's nothing you could do to change that.

Now all I have to do is get up the courage to tell you that. How did you do it? Weren't you terrified just thinking about it? And what I said probably only made it ten times worse. How could you possibly say all that, and then come back to kiss me even after I rejected you?

Sorry, lots of questions from me today. Too bad you can't really answer them. But... who knows, maybe...someday.

Till then,

Pam

The second letter was shorter and Marsha was glad because her eyelids were getting heavy.

Hey Halpert,

You crack me up. Did you honestly not get that asking Kelly how her week has been would lead you to a discussion of which type of tampons she thinks are best? I mean, I thought Kelly's cycle was pretty much common knowledge by now, even for people like Creed. Just for future reference, I've heard rumors that Dwight keeps a master schedule for all the women in the office. Which on the one hand EW!!! But on the other, could come in handy sometimes to avoid situations like the one you just found yourself in.

So anyways, I still don't know what's wrong with you lately. I mean, you're not exactly avoiding me, but even Karen has noticed that you're not yourself! I'm sorry, maybe that was mean. I'm sure your girlfriend knows you better than I think she does, even if it doesn't always look like it.

You know what the worst part is? I really like Karen sometimes. I can see why you're attracted to her, and she's obviously a lot more put together than I am. I really am a wreck when you think about it. But I just can't help feeling that, no matter how great she is, there's no way she could really understand or love you the way I do.

Well, I've got a ton of things to

There may have been a few more words before Pam's signature, but Marsha was already too far gone to do anything but reach out with closed eyes for the switch on the lamp. She drifted off to sleep imagining herself as Pam. Young and pretty, with enough time left in her life to fix her mistakes.

-----

Thursday morning was a long time coming and Jim spent the week wondering what he could expect in Marsha's next letter. He still couldn't bring himself to ask Pam about the letters. He felt a little guilty reading them, when she obviously hadn't intended to actually give them to him, but that guilt was quickly smothered by his anticipation to see what else she had written.

His biggest problem right now was trying to keep himself from getting in over his head. He didn't want these letters to stir up any old feelings he might still have for Pam. It was different now. He was with Karen. He liked Karen, and she liked him. And besides, everything was easier with Karen because there was no long, dramatically drawn-out history to deal with. Just thinking about Pam made his head hurt.

Still, by the time he was driving in to work on Thursday morning he couldn't escape the fact that his toes were curling in anticipation. Come on Halpert, get a grip. They're just letters. Letters she can't even give to you for real.

He was the first one in the office, except for Dwight, and he tried to sound calm as he said good morning, but the envelope under his keyboard was calling to him. He slipped it in his bag then hurried to the kitchen to open it where Dwight wouldn't see him.

The envelope held three pieces of paper. Each scrawled in Pam's familiar loopy handwriting.

Jim, Jim, Jim,

Want to know something funny? Sometimes when I'm not really thinking about anything, like right as I'm falling asleep or when I'm cooking in my "one kitchen" or driving home from work all of a sudden I'll just say your name. Jim. I don't even know why.

(Okay. That's a little weird Beesly. Let's see what else you have to say for yourself.)

Jim,

It's 4:08 on Friday afternoon. Time has effectively died. But it's a slow, painful, agonizing death. I'm so bored of everything. Solitaire, Su Doku, nothing sounds appealing. All I can do is stare at your neck. But not in a creepy vampire way, because that's not what I meant. The office is unusually quiet. People have been slipping out all afternoon. Kelly and Ryan left a few minutes ago so now it's even more quiet. but I don't really mind. When it's quiet it lets me think.

(And what exactly are you thinking about? Come on, you can tell me. If this is all you're gonna write to me then why don't you just tell me this stuff in person?)

Jim,

I'm sitting here "taking notes" during Michael's conference calls, and he's driving me crazy. I would wish you were here so that we could laugh about his impression of the Numa Numa guy that he felt the need to do in the middle of a call with one of our biggest vendors, but at the moment I wouldn't wish Michael's presence on anyone.

(I'm so sorry. I've been there before and it's not pretty.)

It's really bizarre how sometimes he can be such a good businessman and other times he's downright psychotic. It makes me wonder how he even-

You know what? Forget Michael. I don't really want to talk about Michael right now. What I'd rather do is say this: I wish there was some way to go back in time.

(You and me both Pam, although probably not for the same reasons)

I think if I could pick any night to relive it would be the one when we kissed.

(Wow. Really? Um... okay)

That probably sounds a little funny, but I swear for the longest time I hated thinking about that night because it felt like that was the night our friendship was officially over. And besides that I felt guilty about kissing you and I also felt, I don't know just confused about everything. It was painful to think about.

(Yeah. I know exactly what you mean.)

But then I realized that if I was careful I could isolate specific moments and only think about those and not everything else that happened as a result. This is completely embarrassing, but sometimes in my head I can still hear you saying that you're in love with me and that you want to be more than just friends. And I hear it over and over. Like the way a song gets stuck in your head and you can't get it out no matter how hard you try.

(Great. That's just great. Nice to know you're repeating one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.)

But the best moment to relive is that kiss.

(Really?)

Why didn't you tell me you could kiss like that?

(Uh... how exactly would I have done that?)

Sorry. I'm laughing in my head now because I'm picturing a conversation where you come up to my desk and say "Hey Pam, did you happen to know that I am a really great kisser?" I realize you'd be a lot smoother than that about it,

(Well, yeah, I would hope so.)

…but seriously, if I had known that it would be like that... I mean, I just... I wish that I had somehow known last year that I wouldn't end up marrying Roy, that in the end we wouldn't end up together.

(Really?)

The truth is that I mostly stayed with him because I didn't know how not to be with him. I didn't even know my self. Roy was just always there and I couldn't imagine my life without him. I'm sorry. I know you probably don't want to hear me talk about Roy.

(Um…okay. Yeah, you’re right; I’d really rather not hear this.)

Oh, wait you're never going to have to because you'll never actually read this.

(Heh. Little do you know Beesly…)

But still, if having to listen to me ramble on about my problems with Roy over the years was anything like me trying to listen to you talk about Karen lately well then you, my friend, are a saint. Then again, if talking about Karen is the only way to keep talking to you then that's what I'll do. Besides I feel like I owe it to you. You really are amazing.

(Wow. Okay. I was not expecting that.)

I hope you know that. I hope Karen tells you every day how incredible you are.

(I'm really not.)

Because you are. I don't know how else to say it, Jim you are... everything.

(Okay. I get it. Thanks. But "everything?" What does that even mean?)

I should probably stop writing or Michael will actually expect me to remember exactly what he just told this customer. So I guess I'll just say, I miss you. Even sitting 10 feet away from you I miss you.

(I miss you too. I can't believe I forgot how much I miss this side of you.)

Your friend always,

Pam

(Friends. Right. We'll always be just friends.)

Jim set the letter down on the counter and stared at the floor for a minute. Maybe accepting Marsha's offer hadn't been the smartest idea after all. He wanted to hear from Pam, but this was starting to feel too familiar. And a little too painful. He put his lunch in the fridge and then headed into the bathroom to compose himself. This was going to be a long day.

-----

When Pam entered the office a few minutes later, she noticed Jim's coat on the rack, but he wasn't at his desk. Against her better judgment, she was about to go looking for him when she saw the envelope tucked under her keyboard. Inside was another typed letter.

Dear Dream Girl,

Today I'm 13. It's weird that I'm a teenager now. I don't really feel very different today than I did yesterday. My mom told me to write something interesting, and she promised not to read it, so I guess I'll tell you about what happened at lunch yesterday.

Well, first I guess I should tell you about Sarah Davies. She's the girl I sit next to in science and she's really cute. I don't think she's the girl of my dreams because my mom says that these letters are supposed to be for the very most important girl I'll ever know, and I don't really like Sarah as much as I used to like Amy Mitchell last year. But Amy moved to Texas over the summer so I probably won't ever see her again.

But yesterday at lunch Sarah came over to my table and gave me a note that was from one of her friends. And it said that she liked me, but there wasn't a signature or anything it just had a question mark. Do you think it was really from one of Sarah's friends or do you think it was from Sarah? I'm not really sure. Girls are hard to understand.

Hopefully you won't be so confusing Dream Girl.

Hey do you like sports? I think I'm gonna try out for the basketball team next year. I played little league for a couple years when I was little but it was kinda boring. I like watching baseball on TV though. My Dad and me always watch the Phillies play and he takes me to a couple games every year. It's really cool. One time we sat really close up to the dugout and we could see all the players and the coaches and everyone. He said maybe sometime we'll go see them at Spring Training which would be great because there's hardly anyone there so you can wait around and get autographs and stuff.

Anyways, this is almost a page now, and I really want to go check out my presents some more.

P.S. I forgot. My mom makes me say this every year. I like you a lot dream girl.

Pam was more than a little confused by this latest letter. She could see now that both were probably just individual parts in a series of letters written by the same person on different years, but this didn't tell her anything more about how they had turned up on her desk. She opened her purse and pulled out the letter she had received on Monday. Yes, the styles were similar, although, it would be easier to tell if the letters were handwritten.

She wondered for a minute about another series of letters that had been on her desk lately. The ones she had been secretly writing to Jim. Could these letters possibly have anything to do with those? She didn't see how it was possible, but if so would that mean that Jim was the one writing these letters? Letters addressed to the girl of his dreams? Or was this somehow just another prank?

"Pammy-la!!! How lovely to see you this morning." Michael's voice startled her and she quickly scooped both letters off her desk and into her still-open purse.