"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 want to 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 a 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’s 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 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 I 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 a worthless world that would be. She’s so beautiful. You don’t get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she’s smarter than you because you know she is. She’s funny without ever being mean. I love her. God, I love her. I’m so lucky to love her, Van Houten. You don’t get to 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.”
