Hazel Grace was the kind of person who was so tragically beautiful, that to be acquainted with her was like watching a sunset caught halfway between the sky and the earth. You look at her and you know she is fading away, but you keep on watching because you want to wait until the end, and you want to be there for her. The problem is, a sunset always rises again; at least until the inevitable oblivion consumes us and the sun together.

Lost in her conditional, placid state, she could not see the way I looked at her now, as she lay in the hospital bed, blissfully unaware of my presence. I loved her and I had yet to tell her. Telling her would be an absolutely grand attempt at what I consider to be my shot at a legacy. For if I am to be remembered, I desire for Hazel Grace to be alongside me, accompanying me in my future endeavors. However, being present only to looking at her now was prohibited at the moment, and so before I was caught, I held her hands in my own. They were warm; alive. Sighing, I had come to the conclusion that being confined within the walls of this hospital would do me no service other than prolong my anxiety, so I left. Outside, I took a cigarette from my pack and placed it between my teeth. Though this metaphor offered me subtle comfort as a cancer kid, it did in no way lessen the pain that ached in my hip. I had seen the PET scan, and I was afraid. I was more afraid however, that Hazel may not make it in time to see me not make it.

Still, I waited outside the hospital until finally Mrs. Lancaster walked through the sliding doors and stopped when she saw me.

"Augustus." She whispered, her eyes looking like red, deflated balloons.

"Have they said anything?" I asked, hopeful that Hazel had improved, or at least was awake for me to see her with permission.

"She's still unconscious, Gus. We just need to give this time."

I heard my voice crack as I spoke "When can I see her?"

"Not until she's awake."

"But she might not-" I stopped myself. I couldn't think of her in that way. Not yet. She's alive.

"I'm going home to pick up some more paperwork." She said, looking away towards the parking lot "I'll be back, okay?"

"Okay." I breathed.

Removing the cigarette I made my way once again through the hospital doors, and sat in the waiting room until the windows grew dark. No word of Hazel's condition.

My drive home was worse than usual, which I believe is to be expected when you are in the midst of a catastrophic breakdown. The house was silent when I walked in, the Encouragements leading me to my temporary destination: the basement. And soon, I thought, they would be torn down once I reach my more permanent destination, six feet below.

Morning ensued and I fell into my casual yet worrisome routine for a day with Hazel Grace. I woke up, ate a minimal breakfast and immediately headed to the hospital. Again I find her still, lungs struggling for the air I could so easily take in and expel. I wanted somehow to trade, and give her my lungs so that she could live and breathe and suffer adequately with one and a half legs, while I carried her cancer as my own. I then thought of the PET scan, and erased the idea. She should not suffer at all.

The waiting room had become something of a second residence to me. In my chair I had sufficiently memorized the anatomy of the human body, which was so accurately portrayed on a large poster across from me. I had examined the lungs, and the legs and eyes. I had also pondered the nose and its cartilage make up, and how it would be much harder to have a structurally suitable nose made of bone, rather than one that can be easily contorted by a swift punch to the face. A bone nose would make both pleasurable things and unpleasable things a greater burden. Kissing would sure hurt a hell of a lot more.

Suddenly the doors burst open and a hurricane of nurses and doctors crowded around a most- likely-dying new patient. Soon they were whisked away for emergency surgery, nearly mowing over Mr. Lancaster, who stood outside Hazel's room with tears steadily flowing down his face. My body tensed.

He looked over at me, and quickly wiped away his tears, taking a deep breath before walking over to me. Oh God.

"Gus."

I could feel my eyes stinging. "No no no no no." I repeated over and over, shaking my head as he knelt in front of me, his hands gripping my shoulders. "It's alright Augustus." His voice quivered and I could tell it was not alright. None of it.

I ripped out of his grasp and headed straight for Hazel's door. Inside I could see it, I could see the flat line, her mother, and the nurses all grieving. For a moment I could not speak. I couldn't breathe. My chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself, and yet so much welled up inside me.

"SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE OKAY!" I screamed. The nurses turned to me, but I looked at Hazel's body, and I sank to the floor.

I hardly remembered making my way to the gas station or Funky Bones. The night was dark and silent and I felt waves of pain like I had been punched in the stomach repeatedly. I wanted to throw up. Hazel's sun had set and she would not accompany me in my future endeavors, as though I still had a need for future endeavors.

I pulled out my pack of cigarettes and selected my final metaphor. In between my teeth I savored the familiar taste and closed my eyes. After a moment, I fished through my pocket and dug out the lighter I had purchased. Striking a flame I held it to the tip of my cigarette and inhaled as the end began to glow a bright red. A string of smoke ascended into the sky while my lungs burned beneath it.

"Not okay, Hazel Grace."