It is only the year that is ending. So why does it feel like the world is?
LANG LEAVOur emotions pull us in different directions. The stronger the emotion, the greater the pull. Feelings are not always practical, nor do they make any logical sense. That’s just the way it goes.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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But it was now time for her to go away-to find someone who could show her what happiness was.
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Remember, your words are your power. Never forget your words.
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The only ones they can turn against you are those who were never with you.
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You know, missing someone can sometimes be the best thing for a writer.
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Of all you’ve used against me, the worst has been my words.
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Take me someplace where I can feel something-I want to give away my heart. Tell me his name so I can know love when it speaks to me. Give me someone I can write about.
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Why do you write? he asked. So I can take my love for you and give it to the world, I reply. Because you won’t take it from me.
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I know you are scared. Who could blame you? Love is a hurricane wrapped inside a chrysalis. And you are a girl walking into the storm.
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Maybe we slip in and out of alternate worlds through our minds and our imaginations, picking up scar tissue from other dimensions.
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I am already nostalgic for what we have, even with you still here.
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You’re still crying about him aren’t you? Silly girl. What good will it do you to spill those sky blu tears? You meant either everything to him or absolutely nothing at all.
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Anything and everything, the two almost the same–everything says, have it all; anything, one to claim.
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We all have moments of darkness, moments when we are so unlike ourselves. And like vultures they wait for a slip, a misstep, then they take that part of us and try to convince the world that is all we are.
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Don’t stay where you are needed. Go where you are loved.
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Now I know being close to you was never about the proximity.
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It was the year you learned that shooting stars were either a blessing or a curse, depending on what you wanted to believe.
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I don’t know how you are so familiar to me-or why it feels less like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before-in another time, a different place, some other existence.
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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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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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I can’t believe how hard it is. The pain is indescribable. It’s like I’ve been turned into sandstone and my insides are being slowly hollowed out by a chisel and mallet.
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Summer was felt a little more; in autumn I began to fall. When winter came with all its white, you were mine to kiss goodnight.
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Where the strangers we meet, take us down one way streets, and forgetting is something we’re taught.
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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.
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And the weather was so damn sick of being predictable; I heard it began snowing in the Sahara and I wanted to tell you that I’ve changed.
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There are things I miss that I shouldn’t, and things I don’t that I should. Sometimes we want what we couldn’t, sometimes we love what we could.
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I think the mysterious pull that draws you to another person is identical to the one that moves our eyes upward to the stars.
LANG LEAV