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.
LANG LEAVAnd 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.
LANG LEAVI 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.
LANG LEAVI learned that writing is the consolation prize you are given when you don’t get the thing you want the most.
LANG LEAVIf any person claims to have loved twice in all their life – they have not loved at all.
LANG LEAVI was loved in my dreams last night. It echoed through me like thunder-I felt it through and through.
LANG LEAVThe memory of you is fading, a little at a time, and I can feel myself forgetting.
LANG LEAVThat night, we talked the way old friends do, with candor and ease.
LANG LEAVI want you to remember my lips beneath your fingers and how you told me things you never told another soul. I want you to know that I have kept sacred, everything you had entrusted in me and I always will.
LANG LEAVIn cemeteries of memories, our love will lie in caskets.
LANG LEAVThere are days when the melancholy settles on you like a sudden change in weather. The kind of sadness that is intangible. Like the presence of an ache where you can’t pinpoint exactly where it hurts, you just know it does.
LANG LEAVIt is only the year that is ending. So why does it feel like the world is?
LANG LEAVIf you love my heart and mind, then you would love me, for all that I’m. But if you don’t love my every flaw, then you mustn’t love me- not at all.
LANG LEAVI was there in your forgetting, until I was forgot.
LANG LEAVI did not know that it was love until I knew.
LANG LEAVYou are a writer bleeding words onto a page. And the ones who hate you will trample on that page. And the ones who love you will cut you, to keep you bleeding.
LANG LEAVI don’t think all writers are sad, she said. I think it’s the other way around- all sad people write.
LANG LEAV