Sometimes I am caught between poetry and prose, like two lovers I can’t decide between. Prose says to me, let’s build something long and lasting. Poetry takes me by the hand, and whispers, come with me, let’s get lost for awhile.
LANG LEAVWhen was the last time you felt like someone knew you and not the person you’ve been pretending to be. When was the last time you felt like yourself.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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You said my sadness was like the sun, beautiful from a distance but it hurt you too much to come closer.
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Are you like me? Do you give too much, too quickly? Do you throw yourself blindly at the world, thinking that it will always open its arms up to you?
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The second I tried to tell myself I wasn’t in love was the moment I realized I was.
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you cannot control the depth of a wound another inflicts upon you.
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Love is a dormant volcano, lying in wait, biding its time.
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She would fondly call him her Frankenstein, this man who was a patchwork of all the things she had ever longed for.
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I build my walls from the mess they leave.
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There are things we sacrifice for love, that we willingly give. But no one who loves you will ever ask you to give up more than you are willing.
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I think there is a sense of ownership in knowing, isn’t there? You let people in, and they claim parts of you-they fly their flag over uncharted territory and from then onward-you cease to belong wholly to yourself.
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We spoke once about lovers who kept finding each other, no matter how many times the world came between them. And I think I had to break your heart, and you had to break mine. How else could we know the worth of what we were given?
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I don’t think all writers are sad, she said. I think it’s the other way around- all sad people write.
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There are many things in life you can postpone, but love isn’t one of them.
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Where are you?” She asked. “I have been searching all my life.” “Stop looking for me,” Love replied, “and I will find you.
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He swept in like a tsunami, wave after wave, and I didn’t stand a chance. All those warnings, all the things they tried to prepare me for-lost in an instant-to the enormity of what I felt.
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Here’s to those who wish us well, and the rest can go to hell!
LANG LEAV