Hey guys! I must admit it's been awhile since I've written anything so this might not be as polished as it should be. As all of you I also read the book, I cried me a river and now I'm here to take this sad ending to another level.

I never liked sad endings, life is filled with cliff-hangers and sad endings anyway. Most of us go to fictional worlds looking for something to ease our pain, take us away from the harsh reality for awhile. And as long as I have these two hands, I will write. It might not look like much, maybe I'm not a good author either but someone should give dear Augustus and beloved Hazel Grace their deserved infinity. (Oops. Spoiler. Lol.)

And I will go until the end, and I hope you will enjoy it. :)

-You can always follow me on Instagram under the name "100MetersMore", I will be posting alot of progress info there whether you follow or not. :) Takes the edge and loneliness of being beta-less away. :)) Thank you.

When you go there, the expected –Something, it envelopes you in a way that you can tell only later, when you are out of it. When you are there though, there is no way of knowing where you will end up.

-Which might not make sense to you right now, since you are dead and where else you can go beyond here but I will explain.-

Whether you are going to go through that door into the Something that I assumed was the life after life, or fall into this state of feeling absurdly empty and discontented for no apparent reason but at all times. A frustration. A constant depression that youı can not act upon. Now that is how I feel.

Let me assure you of a couple things though. There is no 21 grams of soul that hangs in the air. There is no looking down from up yonder to your crying relatives. I guess this is what the doctors would call comatose. Unconsciousness.

You are not. You never are. For the time that your soul is weighted to be decided whether you should live or die; you can still hear the beeping of the devices attached to your pitiful body, smell chlorine in the air, feel every artificial breath forced into your lungs and you feel it with such detail and intensity that you can not tell whether it is real or imagination, created by your struggling brain. At some undefinite moment you realize that you actually stopped feeling altogether. There is no whirling breath, no continuous beeping, no wailing mother. And then you are dead. This thing between being drowned and trying to breath while a heavy wind beats your face and being burried alive -which, when you think of it, actually could be true and it scared me so for a moment- is death. At least at first I assumed so. The truth, however is far from that.

It makes you feel weird, this pathetic sense of accomplishment when you feel that you can affect but can not be affected. Be there and also anywhere and nowhere at the same time. Then it hits you like an avalanche out of nowhere, the fact that you are nothing. That you are the book that fell for no reason, the door that slammed beacause of the wind, the cup that you don't know how you toppled over. Nothing. And as far as I know, Hazel Grace is not the kind of girl to believe in poltergeists.

You don't realize that you are living when you are living. No one does. Days feel too long and weeks too short. Most of your time goes by with reminiscing and regretting that one thing you did ten years ago. We keep on delaying your passions and dreams to an indetermined future as if the whole concept of time and space is in our hands and under our feet.

This is why death is a concept largely avoided by people. Theiroblivion to the inevitable oblivion itself renders life livable. Or else every hope and dream that people build upon the concept of prospected time would fail. Life would be overwhelmingly intense.

This is why, my beloved Hazel Grace, depression is a side effect of cancer, or living, or living with cancer to be precise. Death is still indefinite as ever but so much closer than it ever was and everything you have wanted to do but never done suffocates you so, and you carry them on your back to every doctor appointment, to every support group and everywhere else you go. They crush you so.

And I so foolishly believed that if I left a mark on this world, this nagging little devil on my shoulder -reminding me of everything I have never been and never will be- would let me be. I would never think that while searching for a cover from the falling rain, a flood would swallow and drown me. Weren't you a beautiful flood, Hazel Grace. And you should believe me when I say that I never ever asked fors pare time on this earth, but the need to see your face once more, to tell you all would be okay… It disrupted everything I thought I was, knowing that we didn't even have time for comforting lies, let alone the harsh truth that was my death. It made me sadder than ever Hazel Grace. Hanging between life and death. Not because I was afraid of dying. And I really was done with this earth Hazel Grace, and with everything I had to offer.

But a deep, dark, shady corner of me that I didn't know existed, wasn't done with you. And I don't think it ever will be. Your mark on me, was and will always be bigger than my need to leave one on you.

I don't think it was uncertainty that left me as a shadow of what I was on earth. I haven't seen anyone else floating around yet and I am pretty sure that everyone who perished didn't die with a solid certainty, completely at ease with the life they led. But still, something made me into this ghost hand on your swollen cheek. Closer than ever while you sleep, and not even able to smell the scent of your skin and I'd cry, Hazel Grace. I'd be sobbing at your feet if I could.

But all I can do is stand here at your bed at night, heaving with lungs that sting despite everything I am not. Wondering what have I done to be cursed with this half life, and how the hell I ended up here. And why.