I used to think I couldn’t go a day without your smile. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back.
LANG LEAVWe 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.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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To love is a dare, when hope and despair, are gates upon it hinges.
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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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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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In the wrong hands, your past is a weapon.
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What is she like? I was told – she is a melancholy soul.
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There are many things in life you can postpone, but love isn’t one of them.
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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.
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The things that seem to matter less, are the ones we put on show.
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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.
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It was a question I had worn on my lips for days – like a loose thread on my favourite sweater I couldn’t resist pulling – despite knowing it could all unravel around me. “Do you love me, I ask?” In your hesitation I found my answer.
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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.
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If any person claims to have loved twice in all their life – they have not loved at all.
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The time may not be prime for us, though you are a special person. We may be just two different clocks, that do not tock, in unison.
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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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When in truth, it is the transparency that kills you. The pain of seeing through to something you can never quite touch.
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I know how hard it is to have to love someone in secret.
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Don’t you get it?” he said. “The ones who are afraid of heights don’t trust themselves enough to jump.
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You 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.
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I loved you more than love was allowed.
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Souls do not have calendars or clocks, nor do they understand the notion of time or distance. They only know it feels right to know one other.
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The only ones they can turn against you are those who were never with you.
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For me, that was the death of the word, or; because now, there is no other. It was the end of the word, and; for I love only you.
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I want you to be happy. I want someone else to know the warmth of your smile, to feel the way I did when I was in your presence.
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Hands are no longer hands. They are caresses. Mouths are no longer mouths. They are kisses. My name is no longer a name, it is a call. And love is no longer love – love is you.
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And I told him, if I am so hard to love, then let me run wild.
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Some Time Out The time may not be prime for us, though you are a special person. We may be just two different clocks, that do not tock, in unison.
LANG LEAV