*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 sophisticated."
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 Snapchat story.