Well, someone gave me the idea to do one of these from Jim's POV, and so I did. Here it is. I don't think that it's as good as Pam's, but whatever. Why not read it anyway? It'll take about three seconds of your busy workday, I promise.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. If I did, things would be a lot different.

A soda isn't coffee.

I think that we both know what the implications of coffee are. Coffee means nervous laughter and getting to know you (but superficially, never too deep) and where are you from, what do you do, laugh, giggle, playful comments, sweaty palms. But a soda is just for friends. For us, a soda marks the end of an epic jinx. It's a break room treat, a chance to socialize and laugh until we feel the bubbles tickle our noses and we snort and try to get ourselves under control before we spew Coke everywhere, because we know how Angela would react if she had to sit down at a messy table.

Grocery shopping isn't an affirmation.

Who goes grocery shopping on a date? Grocery shopping can happen between two friends, two friends who happen to have the same purchases in mind, who happen to shop at the same store. The only couples who shop together are married or living together—and we are neither. The fact that we may have run out to the supermarket together means nothing except that it was a group effort to make Kevin feel better—absolutely nothing more.

Pranks aren't a date.

I will just go right ahead and say this: you are my partner-in-crime. And so what? Does that mean anything deeper than that? No, is the answer that you are looking for. Because if two people just like to do the same things, enjoy laughing at the same things, enjoy spending time with each other while working on the same thing—does that need to go any deeper than that? Doesn't a taste for the same kind of thing make us simply friends? Why read into it? Because if every prank that we have pulled together counted as a date—well, then I'm pretty sure that we would be past the dating stage and probably be married with a house in the suburbs and three smiling children. Not that I think about things like that or anything.

Goodbye isn't forever.

When I walk out the office door every day, past your desk, past the coat rack…I always tend to slow down slightly. I don't know why—maybe it's just my feet remembering the old days, when the two of us would leave together, the last ones in the office, flicking out the light switch, stepping out into the linoleum hallway and waiting for the elevator to take us down, down back into the real world where I could never have you because you were with someone else. And now, when I walk past your desk with her, she holds onto my arm and feels the slight tug as I slow down, glance your way, maybe grab one last piece of candy (because I need the sugar to keep me going, doncha know). And she looks up at me and I see the pain in her eyes and I feel incredibly guilty for the jellybean staining the inside of my hand.

But even though I can wash the candy-color from my palm, I can't get you out of my heart. And so I come back. No matter what happens, no matter who happens, I will always come back to you.

Oh, Jim. I'll love you! But you readers-- why not review? I mean, we've gotten this far together, so why not take the extra step to show that you care? It would mean so much, to me and to Jim. Because he needs to know that someone (besides Kreepy Karen) cares.