black
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In the wrong hands, your past is a weapon.

Lang Leav

That’s the thing about writers – on one hand everything is sacred to them, but, on the other, nothing really is.
LANG LEAV

Hands Oneself Sacred Writing
I love you, I do – you have my word. You have all my words.
LANG LEAV

I Love You Word Yourself
Do you remember the song that was playing the night we met? No, but I remember every song I have heard since you left.
LANG LEAV

Myself Night Remember Song
I still search for you in crowds, in empty fields and soaring clouds. In city lights and passing cars, on winding roads and wishing stars.
LANG LEAV

Break Up Crowd Empty Light Missing Myself Search Winding Yourself
I wish I could put a pen in your hand and gently remind you how the world has given you poetry and now you must give it back.
LANG LEAV

Hands Poetry Reminder Yourself
But it was now time for her to go away-to find someone who could show her what happiness was.
LANG LEAV

Finding Happiness Herself Time
And I told him, if I am so hard to love, then let me run wild.
LANG LEAV

Hard Love Myself Run Wild
I know you were born with your heart already broken. But the world began in pieces and somehow made itself whole.
LANG LEAV

Born Heart Broken Known Myself Pieces Whole
I think that bothers me more than anything. That he could look in my eyes and tell me something that is completely contrary to the truth.
LANG LEAV

Eyes Myself Thinking Truth
We number our days and divide our seasons. We endlessly define what it is to be in love. When in truth, spring blurs into summer and always has, long before that line was ever drawn.
LANG LEAV

Day Definition Division Love Myself Summer
I’m a stranger in my own life.
LANG LEAV

Life Myself Stranger
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?
LANG LEAV

Open Quick Thinking Throw World Yourself
We will remain unwritten through history, no X will mark us on the map; but in books of prose and poetry, you loved me once, in a paragraph.
LANG LEAV

Book History Literature Love Poem Remain Writing Yourself
To love is a dare, when hope and despair, are gates upon it hinges.
LANG LEAV

Dare Despair Gate Hope Love
And you said ecstasy was a storm cloud, just before the rain would burst into the night sky, like a thousand aquatic stars-and not one single moment before.
LANG LEAV

Burst Cloud Moments Oneself Rain Storm
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.
LANG LEAV

Give Up Love Sacrifice Willing Yourself

In the wrong hands, your past is a weapon.

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In the wrong hands, your past is a weapon.

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