Farewell, My Lovely

I seem to know
more about Dick Powell than
I ever did about you.

It's the opposite of goodbye;
it's as if you were never
there from the start.

I'm scared of seeing you now,
hearing your voice,
knowing you think I'm a liar,
insincere and troubled,
like the shadows
I imagine on your face.

It seems we have
too many
mutual friends. Sometimes,
what we believe about each other
is a matter of choice
or delusion.

I look behind me,
expecting a knife there.
I almost want to see it, because
then I would have an answer.
Instead, I'm blinded by gunfire,
and I don't know if
you were the one to shoot.