Return to Sender: A fanfic based on the book The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. Takes place after the novel has ended.

Dear Augustus,

Okay?

No.

Not okay.

Nothing about this is okay, Gus.

Nothing will ever make this okay.

Okay Okay Okay Okay Okay Okay Okay Okay Okay Okay

I am so sick of hearing that everything will be okay.

I am sick of life without you in it.

I am sick of having cancer.

I am of fighting.

I am sick. Period.

Dying, actually. You know a little about that.

Cancer is not content with taking just you, it wants everything.

Yes, it has taken you, and countless others, but still it has not been sated. You and I are nothing to cancer, barely a morsel to slake an incurable hunger. It's not fair how someone like you can mean so little to cancer but mean everything to me. Didn't it understand? Didn't it see how much you mean to me? Cancer is a greedy disease that takes too much, too fast. Stopping it, finding a cure, won't bring you back to me. Life is short, but death is permanent. And that's the saddest thing of all.

I see you everywhere, in everything. I think that's pretty cruel. It's not like I don't see your face every time I close my eyes, but you haunt me even when my eyes are open. Reminding me of what I will never have ever again. I can't even breathe without thinking of you-how you will never again draw a breath of your own.

If I really allow myself to crawl out of the pit of sadness I have lodged myself into, I do think of how thankful I am for the short amount of time we did get to spend together. I can not imagine what my life would be like never having known you because you are all I know, and you have given me something to live for. You made some of the worst days of my life the best ones I could have ever hoped for. I live to remember you. Is that so bad? The truth is, I'm terrified. Terrified of capital-S somewhere, terrified of losing any and all pieces of you. What if you aren't there? What if this is all I have left of you? If it is, then living this life, fighting this battle, is worth it. Every day, even when to draw the shallowest breath is fire, when cancer licks its lips and grins its devil grin, it will be worth it. To remember your smile, your laugh. To remember anything at all.

There are an infinite amount of stars but none shine as bright as you did.

There are an infinite amount of infinite things, but there was only one you.

You made everything seem okay, and that is why nothing will ever be okay again.

All the world has left of you are memories: precious, fleeting things that may be gone by tomorrow. The disease wishes to take even those from me. I am fading, and so are they. So I guess you are too; but a world without any sort of Augustus Waters in it is too sad for me to even contemplate.

So I hold on.

I fight.

Yours,

Hazel Grace