So here's my spin on it. Yup.
What else? She is so beautiful. You don't get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she's smarter than you: you know she is. She is funny without ever being mean. I love her. 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.
I do, Augustus.
I do.
I guess that was it. The last footprint he would leave on this planet. I didn't know why he'd waste it on me. In a few months or years, I'd be gone too. I'd like to say how he was something special, how he deserved one last chance, how he'd fought so hard in such a little time. In reality, there wasn't anything special about him, apart from the fact that he'd been, and will continue to be, the only person to ever take an interest in me. Not that I'm anything special, of course. He didn't deserve anything more than what all those millions of children and teenagers deserved. His ending was death, like everyone else's, it was implanted into his DNA the moment he was formed and no matter how hard he fought, he always would've gone at that moment in time.
I wish I could just give up, like so many others get to do, but just because I've been further wounded by a grenade of the name Augustus, does not mean I become less of one. So I'll carry on as I did before Augustus Waters walked into my life ticking away like the time bomb he was. And don't misunderstand me. I will miss him dearly. But he's gone. There's no need to wallow around in my self-pity. When it's inevitably my time to go, then I'll repay him the honour of being the subject of his last written statement like he did to me, despite the fact that it will always be more of an honour to be his.
I didn't go anywhere from that day forward without taking that battered moleskin notebook with me. It followed me everywhere I went, wedged between the two oxygen tanks sitting in the cart that dragged behind me. Not forgetting the pen rolling around at the bottom of it. If Gus could see or he me, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from laughing. I planned to write back to him, even though his last eternal footprint or whatever wasn't actually to me. That didn't matter. Eventually, the tumour within me, which was made of me, started to attack. A month before the anniversary of his death, I was told I had weeks. I couldn't risk it anymore. I could feel myself getting weaker every day. Physically, from the tumour, and emotionally from the continuous sobbing, and worthless encouragements from my parents. Although I hated to admit it, cancer was taking its time ridicule me with the disease, and I was finding it tiring to even pick up a pen. So I began to write. At least if I started early, then I know it would be finished, and it would be okay. Everything would be okay.
The thing about you, Augustus Waters, is that you are so beautiful. I never got tired of looking at you. I never worried about whether you were smarter than me, because I knew you weren't. You were funny without ever being mean, and I am still completely in love with you. I'm so lucky to have loved you. I loved my choice, Augustus. I love you, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you often enough. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you okay? I just really hope that you're not disappointed when you realise you spent the rest of your life with-
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