Finished reading Looking for Alaska by John Green. I have this thing about this book. I can't stop myself from mulling over the what-could-have-beens and what-ifs if Alaska didn't succumb to her sufferings, if she didn't find her way out of the labyrinth. She became my heroine the very instant she showed Pudge the Great Perhaps. She was the girl I would love to be like. Not "like" in the mere sense of it of course. I just wanted to see the Great Perhaps too, because it is full of hope, of impossibilities, of extraordinariness, of life, full of... everything.
I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not fuck, like in those movies. Not even have sex. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was hurricane.
