You told me you'd come back. But that was one year and six months ago. You told me you loved me. But that was one year and six months ago. You said we'd be forever. But that was one year and six months ago. I've stopped believing, I have. But your memory, the memory of us together is still in my heart, and that's where it will always stay.

I pad into the kitchen and open a bottle of beer, your memory still lingering in my mind. Soft, brown eyes, a smile that could light up a sky scraper, and a heart that could supply enough love for a million homeless children. I still think about the day you left me from time to time, but that hurts me too much. You hurt me too much.

As I sit myself down on the black leather couch adjacent to the brown, wooden door, three loud knocks fill the silence of the small apartment. Walking over to the door, I think of all the people standing there, but your name comes to my mind first. But I immediately push it out. Why would it be you? You don't love me; you never loved me.

Pulling open the door, the figure standing there catches my breath. I move out of the doorway as he, using his two metal crutches, hobbles into the apartment and manages to sit himself down on the couch. I don't want to believe what my brain is telling me, but I know that it is right.

You have come to say you're sorry, you say. You tell me you should have called, you should not have left me alone, but you couldn't seem to face me. You tell me that you were too scared of what I would think. I would never think any less of you, I think to myself. You'll always be my Mattie.

Still staring at you in awe, I sit down next to you. "What happened?" I manage to get out over the beating of my own heart. You sigh and stroke me cheek, which sends chills up and down my spine. You've always made me feel this way, and right now I wish you did not. I should hate you for this, I should throw you out of my house, but I can't. You mean to much to me, you've always meant too much to me. Even if I say I hate you, I still love you.

"I was driving to Provisoir and I slipped on a patch of ice. My car hit a tree and I was thrown out of the windshield. I went flying and my back hit a tree. They told me I'd never walk again, so I went through a year of rehab. Then I moved to New Jersey to get away from it all and realized.." You paused, unwind your hand from our closely entwined hands, and look down at your legs, two useless slabs of flesh. "I realized I loved you too much to let you go."

The realization hits me like a water balloon hits an opponent in a water balloon fight. I slowly put my hand underneath your chin and lift it so out eyes and parallel. I shift my body closer to yours and I can feel you breathing on my neck. Your eyes begin to feel with tears and slowly fall down your rosy cheeks, red from the brisk winter air. I wipe them away, as if I was wiping away your saddness, and our eyes are locked in the act of longing. "I still love you, Jamie," you whisper to me softly.

I brush my lips against yours and you return the action. Our tounges, as if shaking eachother's hands, slowly roll back and forth in our mouthes. I place my hands underneath you and lift your from your seated position, so you are wrapped around my body. Still kissing, I walk us into my bedroom slowly and set you down on the bed. You softly caress my skin, a happening that my skin has been thriving for for far too long. After a night full of passion, love and hope, I softly whisper something in your ear. "I'll never let you go, Mattie. I'll always love you too much."

After a night of supressing our desires for one another, I am sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee when I hear your crutches tap against the hardwood floor. "Hello beautiful," you say horsely as you bend down to give me a kiss on the cheek. You sit yourself down on the cheap wooden chair that I bought for $20 at a garage sale and I notice how vibrant you look. Though matted and curly, your hair is laying just below your ears, setting off a soft look to your features.Your dark brown eyes are deep and intense, cutting into my soul when I look into them. The smile on your face is genuine and relaxed, the same as your body is.

As I get up to pour you a cup of coffee, your voice interupts my lovely thoughts of you. "You know, I should probably call Charlie. I think he may be worried. Has his number changed?" I turn to face you. "No, here's the phone." I walk over to hand you the phone and wonder what his reaction will be. He has been as upset that you left as I was. Putting your conversation on speakerphone, I can hear his thick English accent with a hint of Canadien speaking. "Hello?" You take a deep sigh, and I can tell how hard this must be for you. "Chaz, it's me, Mattie."

A sharp intake of air is heard on the other end and after a minute, his voice finally returns, quiet and quivering. "Mattie? Wha..How..Where.." Then you begin to tell him the same story that you told me, though without any pauses, as if you have practiced what you wee going to say for a long while. There is silence on the other end and you look at me with a concerned look on your face, telling me that you are thinking the same thing I am; he hung up. But our fears are pushed out of the way when his deep voice returns. "Oh my god," he whispers, just loud enough so that when we strain we can hear him. "I'm coming over right away."

A click is heard on the other end and you press the off button on the phone, putting your head in your hands as you do so. "Why did I ever leave?" I can hear you say, muffled by your arm. I immediately cross the linoleum tile that was placed in this shabby apartment over looking the cobblestone streets of Old Montreal and rub your back lovingly. "It's okay, everything will be alright," I say, sounding like a Bob Marley song, though I am not even sure that I am telling the truth. You and Charlie we always close, things won't be any different, will they? You hurt him, you hurt all of us. But he'll forgive you, won't he?

A knock on the door enters my thought and I begin to walk over to open the door, but your hand grasps my arm mid-step. "Let me get it," you say, tears still in your eyes. You struggle to get our of the chair, but hobble over to the door, open it, and are immediately enveloped in a loving bear hug. "Mattie!" Charlie screeches, sending a smile on my face. He twirls around, sending your limp legs flying through the air. Giggles are erupting like an active volcano and for the first time in weeks, I am crying. Not because of saddness, but because of joy. Joy because I know in my heart this is the way it is supposed to be.

Five minutes after Charlie arrived, we are giggling like school girls as we trek down the streets of Montreal. We finally settle for a small cafe overlooking the river and we make ourselves comfortable in a booth. I begin to look out the window people watching until I can tell that your eyes are bearing into me. I turn my head to face you and smile slightly.

"What?" You begin to smirk and then wink at me before you say, "nothing." I then feel a hand slowly travel up and down on my leg, look over to you, and see you look away bashfully, removing your hand in the process. "I like it there," I whisper to you, as I reach for your hand, which has become cold and clammy, and place it back on my leg. "I've just missed being able to touch someone," you say to me in return. "Hey, I don't like being left out of the loop!" Charlie says, his face full of mock hurt.

You turn your head towards Charlie and immediately break into a large grin. Slamming your right fist on the table, you screech in delight. "I have a great idea!" Charlie and I look at eachother, then both look away, pretending we do not know you. You reach out your arms and at the same time you slap our faces. Not hard, but hard enough to get our attention. "We should do a show in England!"

I look at Charlie and try and guess what he is thinking, but fail miserably when I see his head cockeyed and his mouth slightly ajar. "That's a great idea! We can just hop on over to England, walk over to the studios and perform just like the old days." I say, hoping you'll hear my sarcastic tone.

But you are oblivious to it and keep talking excitedly about performing again. "Yeah! I'll call the airline now!" You say as you whip out your small, silver cell phone. I manage to take a hold of your wrist to let you know that I am being serious. "Mat, we can't just go back to England and perform. It has been a year and a half since we've been back and we cannot expect everyone to feel the same about us."

You shake off my grasp and go to stand up. "That doesn't mean we can't try." You say as you hobble away. Finally Charlie manages to speak in a barely audible tone. "What are we going to do?" I move to stand up and answer his question. "Go along for the ride."

Charlie and I walk out of the small cafe and begin walking in the direction of my apartment, hoping that is where you retreated to, silently. Thought about returning to England were rushing into my mind like water coming out of a shower head. None of us had been back since we came to Montreal, leaving the idea in England that we had broken up, without leaving a word. Could we just return, perform a show, and think that everything will be okay?

I turn the key to enter the apartment and move to walk in, but your body laying limp is blocking my path. I slap my hand across my mouth and from that moment, everything moves in slow motion. Charlie sees you, screams, whips out his cell phone and dials 911. The paramedics come, lift you onto the gurney, and wheel you into the ambulence and away from the apartment, away from Charlie and me.

We run as fast as we can, following the ambulence evey step of the way. One mile later, we both collapse in the doorway of the hospital. "James Bourne, how is he?" I manage to say, struggling to catch my breath, knowing that it was all worth it for you. The nurse sighs, looks down at the tall, wooden desk that stands below her torso, and looks be square in the eye. "