She stood at the top of a steep, grassy hill, her toes at the very edge of the cliff. The hill was tall, and she found herself looking out at the vast landscape before her. Below her was mostly dirt and some grass splashes, along with a few trees scattered here and there. The sun was slowly setting on this picture perfect view, but Pam's heart was anything but picture perfect.

A soft breeze swept the leaves on the ground, causing them to flutter aimlessly. A slight chill ran down her spine and she shivered from the cool autumn air. The wind picked up and she could hear its faint rustle as it brushed through the waiting trees. She loved that sound. It could be one of her worst days and still the sound of rustling leaves would calm her.

She had come up here to think. Just to think. And as the sun set, she knew it was time to head home. So there she stood, watching the sunset, a dejected feeling spreading throughout her. Like a pit in her stomach. Or a hole in her heart.

Tears quickly pricked her eyes and she blinked rapidly, desperately trying to rid them. Her throat constricted and she found herself crying, the tears falling down her pale face.

Another breeze filled the Pennsylvania air and it swept towards Pam, as if to comfort her; as if to wipe away her tears. She smiled shakily, silently thanking the wind in its attempt to console her. It swished through the crisp leaves again, whispering to them. That was one thing Pam Beesly thought: that the wind could talk. Not in a crazy way, but in a childish, silly way. She believed that whenever the wind blew, it whispered a something to the trees.

She also knew that the wind could carry messages. Whatever she wanted to say she told to the wind, so that it told whoever she wanted to say it to. It listened and conveyed the message, expertly. So, it was that day that Pam came up to her favorite hill, wanting to talk. She didn't know that the message she wanted to say took so much effort. She never knew that she would be sobbing while whispering it. And so she had waited, until she could feel the familiar, comforting breeze sway the leaves.

And she told it her message. And, of course, like any other day, it listened.

When she felt another breath of wind pick up, a soft whisper escaped her lips.

"I love you, Jim."


AN: Aww...Pam is so sad...

By the way: this is what I used to think when I was younger. And the wind still calms me when my window is open and it softly rustles through the trees.