Sitting up late one night, I can see the stars. Each individual star shines brightly and independant, kind of like some people. Sure, you've got those people who are followers, always copying the movement of somebody else. Then, though, you've got the special people, the ones who really, truely stand out.
So, those 'nerds' with the glasses and braces heading to the library with their arms full of books, they're the real heroes of this world. They're the ones who'll care enough about this world to find a cure for cancer, so that our children in the future don't have to go through what Gus and I had to go through.
As I look up bow at those stars, I can see their beauty. Tranquility. Peacefulness, even. And it's nice. I realize that I could be in the hospital, battling for my life against the same cancer that has plaigued me for all these years. Or I could be healthy, like most other kids my age. I could even be gone, my body decomposing in a black box in the dirt while my soul still lives on somewhere else. I'm not, though.
And it is now that I think of those who were less fourtunate than I. Isaac, who can't see. Augustus, who's no longer with us. Caroline. The poor kids who went to the Support Group with me. I think about all of them and realize that it isn't the actual stars, the burning bits gas made of mostly hydrogen and helium that we see in the sky at night, but the people who are strong for us that light our ways through life. Those people are the true beauty in our stars.
I really admire this book, The Fault in our Stars. I have a friend who beat cancer when we were about seven years old (we're thirteen now). I never fully understood what she was going through, but after reading The Fault in our Stars I realized how lucky she truely was.
~Becca