You may grow to love this person but remember they are not yours to keep. Their purpose isn’t to save you but to show you how to save yourself.
LANG LEAVIt should be my right to mourn someone who has yet to leave this world but no longer wants to be part of mine.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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The feeling is like the ocean. Sometimes calm and still; other times, it’s a hurricane.
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The sad thing is,” she said, “the moment you start to miss someone, it means they’re already gone.
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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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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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I was there in your forgetting, until I was forgot.
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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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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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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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If a boy ever says, you remind me of someone–don’t fall in love with him. You will never be anything more than second best.
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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 learned that writing is the consolation prize you are given when you don’t get the thing you want the most.
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When love finds you, it doesn’t come as crashing waves or thunderbolts. It appears as a song on the radio or a particular blue in the sky. It dawns on you slowly, like a warm winter sunrise-where the promise of summer shines out from within.
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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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In many ways, a book is, in itself, a tiny universe. Each page is like a newly formed galaxy, fashioned from a single, pulsing thought. A book travels for days, for years, sometimes for centuries to meet you at an exact point in time.
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I look for you, the way I was taught to look both ways when crossing the road. Uptight and wary, bracing myself for something I know could break me.
LANG LEAV