Dear John Green,
I know you don’t know me and you probably never will. It’s kinda strange, you know. You’re probably my biggest inspiration and definitely one of my idols, but you don’t know me. I’m just another fan to you. But I guess that this is how this world works. For some people, you are a big deal, but for others, you’re no one except a weird teenager who’s writing a strange letter for her favorite author, trying to sound like a great author. But who am I kidding? Everyone knows I am a pretty bad writer.
A writer I love made me realise that “my thoughts are stars I can’t fanthom into constellations”. That’s my all-time favorite quote because it perfectly describes what’s going on in my head all the time. It also describes what is going on in my head right now. I have so many things I need to tell you, but I don’t know how.
I know you’re probably wondering why you’re reading this, but mainly, why am I writing this. Well, the answer is simple.
You’re my favorite author. You’ve probably guessed this by now. And you’ve probably guessed that I am, in fact, an avid reader.
In my 16 years of existance I’ve read more than some people have in their entire life. Fantasy, classic literature, dystopia, indie, bestsellers, romance, anything I could get my hands on. But none of them impressed me as much as your book has. And I am not only talking about “The fault in our Stars”, although that’s how I discovered you. I am talking about “Looking for Alaska” and “An abundance of Katherines” too. I haven’t read “Paper towns” or your other two books (yes, I do consider “Let it go” your book) even though I have them all. I’m kinda scared of the moment when I’ll have read all your work and there won’t be anything more from you to discover.
But that’s not true. Everytime I reread on of your books, I discover something new, something that makes me fall in love with them even harder.
Let me tell you a story and you’ll understand why I’m writing this.
October 2013. My friend from Romania sent me a gift. It was the Romanian version of “The fault in our Stars”. I was very excited because I had heard so many great things about you and your books. I started reading it the same day I got it.
And soon after I was in tears.
Dear John, I don’t think you are aware of what you’ve done to this world, how much you’ve changed it. The power of your words saved and still saves a lot of lives.
Truth be told, you didn’t save me. You had no reason to do so, because I wasn’t sick or depressed.
But you did change my life. You showed me why i need to change my view of this world. I’ve learned to cherish my life and I’ve also understood that people are capable of creating beauty and changing the world with a book.
People like you.
I fell in love with “The fault in our stars” immediately. I loved (and I still do) your writing, the way you show us that this life is beautiful. It’s a good life, someone once said. And it is.
I love your quotes as well.
I love Augustus and his intelligence. I love his metaphores. I love Hazel Grace and I love the tragedy in their love and their love story and Isaac and simply the book. But you’ve probably heard that a thousand times, right?
Since then, I’ve read your book three times and seen the movie once. And I cried, John. I cried so hard.
Throughout our lives, we read books that we forget as soon as we finish them. But there are also other books we read that we never forget; they stay with us forever and we are unable to forget them. They become our personal Bible. And everytime we read them, we fall in love with them all over again, but harder and harder everytime.
This is what “The fault in our stars” is to me. I didn’t fall in love with it like Hazel fell in love with Augustus. Slowly, then all at once. No. I fell hard, all at once. I fell and sank into the story and its beauty like you do when you jump off a cliff. Hard. But the landing was beautiful.
“The fault in our stars” is my own “An imperial affliction” and much more. It’ll stay with me forever.
You have me a forever within the numbered pages and I thank you for that.