Okay. So expectedly I cried, especially in the end part where tragedy has to happen. Add to that my former knowledge of this as a tragic one and the flashing introductory warning of "What can you say about a twenty-five-year old girl who died?". It was inevitably tragic. But the conciseness, simplicity and realistic profoundness of every part of this book brought me more to be drawn to this. There's nothing more genuine and wonderful and truer than having to experience the love and having to face its equal repercussions which is why I also dread to feel it for some learned reasons. And I don't mean 'repercussions' in a bad way, coz truly, they are the ones which, in other ways, make us masochists, weak and stupid yet guiding us through into the realization of our deeper nature - vulnerability. Screw my emo-ramblings but that's what I really had pondered out as I finished this book and I just want to lump it all out in here. And I admire Oliver so much. Love story is about a story that had captured me of what has to be there and done when it comes to love...