A Good Love Story

“It’s a metaphor, see: You put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don’t give it the power to do its killing.” ― John Green

Forever 21 dress, hat & sunglasses, Target floral t-shirt, Nine West shoes, American Eagle bucket bag

I hate myself for being one of those sappy girls who love a good love story. I hate myself even more for knowing that though the ending is blatantly obvious, I still sob like a little baby. With that being said, this past week I had decided to finally read The Fault in Our Stars. I don’t think I was particularly sadden by the death of Gus or the lovers inevitable fate, as much as I was challenged by the daunting reminder of how minute and insignificant we all are. Because the harsh reality is this: most of us will live, will die and will not leave so much as a ripple in the tides of time. I haven’t lost my faith nor will I try to stuff it down anyone’s throat.

Though, I am constantly thinking about what mark I want to leave behind on this earth, but now, I am beginning to question whether that is selfish to even think that the universe wants to be marked by me. Who am I to think that I possess the power to pen this history paper? Let me leave you with this, an excerpt from the novel by John Green:

“Here’s the thing about Hazel: Almost everyone is obsessed with leaving a mark upon the world. Bequeathing a legacy. Outlasting death. We all want to be remembered. I do, too. That’s what bothers me most, is being another unremembered casualty in the ancient and inglorious war against disease.
I want to leave a mark.
But Van Houten: The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rock star and you think, “They’ll remember me now,” but (a) they don’t remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion.

Hazel is different. She walks lightly, old man. She walks lightly upon the earth. Hazel knows the truth: We’re as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we’re not likely to do either.
People will say it’s sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it’s not sad, Van Houten. It’s triumphant. It’s heroic. Isn’t that the real heroism? Like the doctors say: First, do no harm.

After my PET scan lit up, I snuck into the ICU and saw her while she was unconscious. I just walked in behind a nurse with a badge and I got to sit next to her for like ten minutes before I got caught. I really thought she was going to die, too. It was brutal: the incessant mechanized haranguing of intensive care. She had this dark cancer water dripping out of her chest. Eyes closed. Intubated. But her hand was still her hand, still warm and the nails painted this almost black dark blue and I just held her hand and tried to imagine the world without us and for about one second I was a good enough person to hope she died so she would never know that I was going, too. But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I suppose. I left my scar.

I am so lucky to love her, Van Houten. You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope she likes hers.”