He wants to keep sleeping, but his body will simply not allow it. He rolls over and peers at his alarm clock. It reads 2:15. The light streaming through the slats of his blinds verify that a good part of his Saturday has already been consumed by his restless 14 hour slumber.

Jim throws aside the covers, sits up, and leans his head against the wall. Slowly the feeling of full consciousness creeps back into his brain. And there she is; right back in the forefront of his thoughts. A warm, dull ache pops into his gut as his memories of her dance through his mind.

"Killer nanorobots?"..."it's an epidemic." Then the look. Oh that look! The playful innocence she effected in that look is breathtaking.

A boxer clad Jim allows himself to bask in the glow of that memory a little while longer. The thought of her makes him warm all over. Soon, Halpert Memory Player 7.0 will move to the next memory in queue. It might be the drunken kiss he received at the dundies. Or, perhaps, it will be the anxious smile that she held on him for what seemed like an eternity when they were on the booze cruise. However, the amount of memories in his playlist is vast and the randomizer happens to be on.

"Pam, it wasn't her." "What?" "I'm the one who complained about you…I… I didn't know Toby was going to write it down…I was just venting…You know, it was just one day…and I took it right back… it was like…" "Okay."

Jim's toes curl up; he draws his knees up to his chest and runs his hands up his forehead and through his hair.

"DAMMIT!"

His yell reverberates through the apartment. His roommate, Mark, is at his girlfriend's place for the weekend; at least he has not been disturbed.

"Okay."

She had said it so quickly. So evenly. A simple "okay." It did not pass judgment and it left no room for further conversation. "Okay." It was the quickest route to silence.

Jim rolls out of bed and stumbles into the bathroom. He grasps the sides of the sink and looks into the mirror.

"She's going to get married!... SHE'S GOING TO GET MARRIED TO ROY!"

Jim is disgusted with himself. He has ignored reality: The make-out session Pam and Roy had before the basketball game in the warehouse, the kiss they had in the parking lot the day of the fire, the way she was thrilled after Roy set a date for their wedding, and how contented and happy she was the day Roy came up to help replace the carpet. Jim looks up into the mirror again.

"She is getting married to Roy. She loves him and he loves her. Those are the facts."

He knows he has to leave; he knew it right after she said, "okay." But now, now Stamford was not far enough. She would know his office phone number and email address. He would have to say goodbye and she would tell him to keep in touch. They would trade the occasional email, exchange a phone call or two, and maybe even try to arrange infrequent visits. That simply would not do. As long as they kept in contact, his memories of her would be on life support. He would continue to dream about the impossible.

He has to leave and never look back. Memories are not infallible. Give them enough space and they will never be refreshed. Give them enough time and they will get fuzzy and deteriorate. Give your mind enough distractions and it will push those fuzzy remnants far into the depths or your grey matter.

Jim walks slowly back into his bedroom. Even now he can envision her sitting on his bed. She has one leg draped over the side as she eagerly flips through his yearbook. She looks so perfect. He just stands in his doorway and watches her. Time stands still as he is lost in yet another reverie. Slowly the image of Pam on his bed grows darker, harder to discern. It is nearly imperceptible… and then it is gone. Jim shakes himself out of the dream. His room is completely dark. The red glow of his alarm clock reads 9:14.

"ENOUGH!"

Jim had allowed himself to stand in his room watching Pam's apparition for six hours, noticing the passage of time only after her image was completely consumed by the shadows of night.

Jim flicks on the light and goes to his dresser. He quickly throws on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. He opens his closet in search of boxes, but finds none. Eventually he settles on large black trash bags he found under the sink in the kitchen. Slowly he fills the trash bags with all his possessions and crams them into his Corolla. His car is completely full. He trudges back upstairs and surveys his room. All the furniture remains, his desk, his dresser, and the bare mattress that sits on his bed. The only small item left is his alarm clock. It reads 2:15. Too much of a coincidence; it will always remind him of Pam. He will purchase a new clock. He quickly scrawls out two notes. One is for Mark; he leaves it on the counter. He stuffs the second note in a small white envelope and addresses it. He tosses the envelope on his dashboard and rolls down the window. This is going to be a long night.