I learned that writing is the consolation prize you are given when you don’t get the thing you want the most.
LANG LEAVI do know there are all kinds of barriers to love. I do believe the world needs less of them.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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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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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.
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I don’t want to be in a relationship where I feel the constant need to explain myself. I don’t want to live in a world like that either.
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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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Fear isn’t a reason when it comes to love–it’s an excuse. Anyone who has ever been in love will tell you that.
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To love is a dare, when hope and despair, are gates upon it hinges.
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I used to think people were like lighthouses. That they were there to protect you. But they’re no. People are lime whirlpools. They pull you in; they drag you under. You have to work so hard just to keep your head above water.
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There is a savagery to what you feel. It eats you up inside. But you will get through it; you don’t need his mouth to placate you. You don’t need his hands to untangle the butterfly knot in your heart. Your love is a fire that will burn itself out. Let it ravage you.
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But tomorrow, tomorrow could be different, and that is what keeps me going today.
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Some days it felt like a burden, to smile for you. To keep the lines of worry from etching into your forehead.
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It’s so dark right now, I can’t see any light around me. That’s because the light is coming from you. You can’t see it but everyone else can.
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She was the book that was not written. The sentence that was not scripted. She was the word you wished you could have said.
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Our love story comes to me in waves, in movie stills and long summer afternoons spent under a sky of incessant blue. I still think of your eyes in flashes of color, your hands in a frenetic, feverish blur-your smile a mosaic of light and shadow. I still find myself lost in those moments of abstraction.
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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.
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When words run dry, he does not try, nor do I. We are on par. He just is, I just am and we just are.
LANG LEAV