8A/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.
Okay?
Okay.
And I let go.