Mr. Van Houten. I’m a good person but a shitty writer. You’re a shitty person but a good writer. I think we’d make a good team.
I don’t wanna ask you for any favors, but if you have the time and from what I saw you have plenty, please fix this for me. It’s eulogy for Hazel.
She asked me to write one and I’m trying. I just… I could use a little flair. See, the thing is, we all want to be remembered.
But Hazel is different. Hazel knows the truth. She didn’t want a million admirers, she just wanted one. And she got it.
Maybe she wasn’t loved widely, but she was loved deeply. And isn’t that more than the most of us get?
When Hazel was sick, I knew I was dying, but I didn’t want to say so.
She was in the ICU and I snuck in for 10 minutes and sat with her, before I got caught.
Her eyes were closed, her skin pale, but her hands were still her hands.
Still warm and her nails were painted this dark blue black color and, I just held them.
And I willed myself to imagine a world without us and what worthless world that would be.
She is so beautiful. You don’t get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she’s smarter than you, cause you know she is. She’s funny without even being mean.
I love her. God I love her. I’m so lucky to love her, Van Houten.
You don’t get the choose if you get hurt in this world, but you do have a say in who hurts you.
And I like my choices, I hope she likes hers.
Okay Hazel Grace? Okay!