A/N: All characters belong to John Greene.

Please Review! It means a lot.

As I begin to fade; I realize how similar this situation is to the same one I was in when I was fourteen years old. Except its the same lungs, different Hazel.

I'm tired of it all. I know that's selfish to say, but I am.

Tired of having lungs that suck at being lungs.

Tired of being a grenade, and not knowing when my pin will be pulled.

Tired of never having enough air to breathe.

Tired of thinking about how my mom won't be a mom anymore.

Tired of hearing my dad's sobbing, and knowing its all because of me.

Tired of carrying an oxygen tank everywhere I go.

Tired of the liquid that fills my lungs.

Tired of having cancer.

Tired of being a side affect.

Tired of not being okay.

It really is a lot like before. Mom and dad sitting in the same place; mom telling me its okay to let go.

It's okay.



And I let go.