"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. It would have eventually been inevitable but not now. It was too soon. I think that you could have been even more beautiful than yu were, you are. I’d like to think you’re still here somewhere, but it’s just too dark to find you. It’s always dark now. Like a tunnel with no light. And not a day passes when I don’t think of how much longer your life should have been. 17. I don’t think that’s long enough. Especially for someone as special as cancer. It’s been 3 years now and I was too young to understand, to naive. And even now I can’t bring myself to admit that you’re gone. Truly and utterly gone. I thought for a while that things could maybe get better. That I could get better. And now everything’s messed up again. My best friends have turned to self-harm and half the time it’s like they think it’s “cool”. I don’t think they are really my friends anymore, they don’t understand what it’s like to toy with death. How precious every breath is. Because they can be gone. Just like that. But I hope, that wherever you are hiding, because in know it must be somewhere, you are happy. Maybe, finally, happy.