I am a heavily folded
sheet of stationery.
A Roman
nobleman.
She is
so
so
sick.
You are
Shakespeare;
you are
wrong.
It took me
f o r e v e r
to decode:
The fault is
NOT
in our stars,
but in
ourselves.
She is a letterhead.
She is in
my empty bed.
She is
enough.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
I am a heavily folded
sheet of stationery.
A Roman
nobleman.
She is
so
so
sick.
You are
Shakespeare;
you are
wrong.
It took me
f o r e v e r
to decode:
The fault is
NOT
in our stars,
but in
ourselves.
She is a letterhead.
She is in
my empty bed.
She is
enough.
Rearranged words from a page in "The Fault in Our Stars" by John Green
