Nine Words

I missed all the signs.
Work was so stressful, no wonder you slept all the time.
No wonder you lost interest in conversation,
Or in meeting friends for dinner,
Or in sneaking out of the office for a long lunch with me.
I tried to pull you out - not knowing of what -
Just wanting you to speak to me
In more than yes and no.
And when I couldn't, I had no one to blame but myself.

And perhaps that wasn't a mistake.
Your fingers pulled the trigger,
But maybe I was the revolver you swallowed,
The bullet that crashed through the back of your brain,
Igniting synapses and memories -
         were any of them of me?

You left nine words by way of explanation:
"My life is empty. Now yours can go on."
But I can't escape my imagined image
Of your eyes, thinking of me,
And then growing dark as the gun explodes.

Your life can't go on but mine is empty,
In more ways than you could have imagined yours to be.
Thank God the police took the revolver as evidence.
I don't think I can be trusted -
Even you cracked and you always were stronger than I.