Having finished the book, I taste a bittersweet scent of emotions coming into my soul. As if my world as I used to see, had just collapsed on itself due to fiction while I insufficiently tried to keep myself grounded to it.
I drowned myself into my own tears as I acknowledged that happy endings are nothing but a past tense reality of history. I wonder how does it feel to write about love and endings. I do not wish to do it, it just disturbs me the thought that one's mind can bravely enough describe illness, love and endings without breaking its own heart in the process.
Some stories really do change you. They internally spread the wish to make your days countable and the hope to live up to the meaning of being alive and I hope I will.
Thank you John Green for describing beauty as I have never seen it before. Life through your eyes is nothing but a blissfully tragic and endless journey.
Love always,
Tommy
"Façam o Favor de Ser Felizes" - Raul Solnado
PS. In the loving memory of the most endearing character I've ever met after Charlie - Gus. I tried to picture you as hot as Hazel described you. She's indeed something, buddy.
Even though I am terribly sad that the book ended so sadly, I knew it had to be that sad to be that good. Does it make any sense?
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