*If Hazel was
a typical white girl*
"I'm in love with you," he said quietly.
"Augustus," I said.
"I am," he said. He was staring at me, and I could
see the corners of his eyes crinkling "I'm in love
with you, and I'm not in the business in denying myself the
simple pleasure of daying true things. I'm in love with
you, your obsession with starbucks, your leggings with riding
boots, and how you post on instagram "a night out with the
girls" everytime your with a friend. I love you from your
flower headband where you try to look like some hipster down to
your high-waisted shorts and Chacos. Every single part of you
is unique, I can't think of anyone else I know who shares
the same qualities as you."
"Augustus, you're making me cry," I whimpered
out, trying to keep my mascara from slithering down my face and
ruining my makeup, because I looked hella cute and I wasn't
going to mess that up.
"No, what makes me cry is that last night when I tried to
hold your face and kiss you, and your Kendra Scott earrings
fell onto the ground, and you were so sad you cried after you
posted a picture of them on Twitter. When you cry, I cry. I
can't stand the thought of you being captivated by
depression." He caressed my hand and rubbed his thumb onto
the back of mine. He stared deep into my eyes, completely
encapsulating my soul and said, "and I know what love is.
Love is tweeting cute song lyrics of some overplayed song on
the radio we've totally never heard of or posting some
quote you found on Tumblr trying to seem
I drove my face into his arms and cried out harder than I'd
ever cried before. Augustus was as sweet as the Starbucks drink
I just purchased so I could post it onTwitter. After I finished
draining my eyes, I took a selfie and put it on my 186 second