You are not paper. You are perfect.
Well, that's not accurate. Perfect? I say that a lot. Boo me. Nothing is perfect. Perfection is a concept. Who is to say what's perfect and what's not? It's all down to opinion anyway.
Margo, you don't know how brilliant you are. I don't care that you are fictional. Let's ignore that fact for just a bit. Because you feel real. I only know you from paper, but still you are not paper. You are flesh and blood and here.
What happened with you and Quentin? I want to know, Margo, because your genius creator (John Green, of course) did not make that clear. That's why I am asking you now. Please stay with him foreverandever and make little babies like paper people do.
But it doesn't make you paper because you do what the paper people do.
Everyone must doubt themselves sometimes, and think that they are paper. Just like you did. I don't really wonder that. Because I'm pretty sure I'm not paper.
John Green and his metaphors are so. Just so.
*Um, if you have no idea what this is about, then read Paper Towns. But other than that, just go with the flow.