Who are you John? Who is this person people have described you to be? Why do people keep piling all this shit on my lap. The more I move away, the more shit piles on my lap from things people feel I should know.
All about you. You, who I can no longer defend, no longer am I certain who you are. All this time I’ve defended everything I thought of you to be. But nothing of which matches the description of what and who people say you are. I question the purposefulness of my book in essence of my current emotional standing.
I’ve never been more repulsed by accusations as I have by those descriptions of your encounters. Finally, John. The time has come that the pile has surpassed the height of my head. Overwhelmed and most least informed I can no longer defend you. You. Defenseless. Giving everyone but I all the time in the world. Me, the only one working to defend your case. I, different yet the same from every other. I am no longer mad at you but at myself. For all of which separated me from them should have been the word ‘no’. I should have said no, but I, just as they, am no different.
Every time I end my series, I’m compelled to reargue and dispute all the facts. For not just you but to fairly allow my audience, the readers a more clear objectiveness. One in which no bias is swayed by my own pronouns.
So I will allow them to decide just as I have. For your actions have trumped any nice words I’ve ever spoken in defense of your character.
For what I hope but can’t promise will be my last Goodbye John….