Hello. My name is Hazel Grace Lancaster. And Augustus Waters was the star-crossed love of my life. Ours is an epic love story and I probably won’t be able to get more than a sentence out without disappearing into a puddle of tears. Like all real love stories, ours will die with us, as it should. You know, I’d kind of hoped that he’d be the one eulogizing me, because there is really no one else… Yeah, no, um… I’m not gonna talk about our love story, ’cause I can’t. So instead I’m gonna talk about math. I’m not a mathematician, but I do know this: There are infinite numbers between zero and one. There’s point one, point one two, point one one two, and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger set of infinite numbers between zero and two or between zero and a million. Some infinities are simply bigger than other infinities. A writer that we used to like taught us that. You know, I want more numbers than I’m likely to get, and God, do I want more days for Augustus Waters than what he got. But Gus, my love, I can not tell you how thankful I am, for our little infinity. You gave me a forever, within the numbered days. And for that I am… I am eternally grateful. I love you so much.
I am mad! I’m mad because I think you’re special. And isn’t that enough? You think that the only way to lead a meaningful life, is for everyone to remember you. For everyone to love you! Guess what, Gus – this is your life! This is all you get! You get me, and you get your family and you get this world, and that’s it! And if that’s not enough for you, then I’m sorry, but its not nothing. Because I love you. And I’m going to remember you.
It was unbearable… The whole thing. Every second, worse than the last. One of the first things they ask you in the ER is to rate your pain on a scale from one to ten. I’ve been asked this question hundreds of times. And I remember once when I couldn’t catch my breath and it felt like my chest was on fire, the nurse asked me to rate my pain. Though I couldn’t speak, I held up nine fingers. Later, when I started feeling better, the nurse came in and called me a fighter. “You know how I know?” she said. “You called a ten a nine.” But that wasn’t the truth. I didn’t call it a nine because I was brave. The reason I called it a nine was because I was saving my ten. And this was it… This was the great and terrible ten.
I believe we have a choice in this world about how to tell sad stories. On the one hand, you can sugarcoat it the way they do in movies and romance novels, where beautiful people learn beautiful lessons, where nothing is too messed up that can’t be fixed with an apology and a Peter Gabriel song. I like that version as much as the next girl, believe me. It’s just not the truth. This is the truth. Sorry.
