Every day I measure the weight of my past against the present and feel the drag of what could have been.
LANG LEAVWhen 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.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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What is she like? I was told – she is a melancholy soul.
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Here’s to those who wish us well, and the rest can go to hell!
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The ache will always be there, but the intensity will fade, and you’ll find other beautiful things to fill your days with.
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The second I tried to tell myself I wasn’t in love was the moment I realized I was.
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I do know there are all kinds of barriers to love. I do believe the world needs less of them.
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It is only the year that is ending. So why does it feel like the world is?
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Isn’t it strange how much of our lives are interchangeable, how little is truly ours.
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Love is a dormant volcano, lying in wait, biding its time.
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Who you love and who loves you back determines so much in your life.
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And if you’ve forgotten, let me remind you. How love never really ends. How your heart breaks the same way it beats, again and again, and again.
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Then there is the boy you can never stop thinking about. Whenever you see his name, it trips you up. Even if it’s one that belongs to many others, even if he belongs to someone else.
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The distance from you is measured in how far I’ve come.
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We all need to follow our intuition, even if it takes us down the wrong path. Otherwise, you’ll always be second-guessing yourself.
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That’s the thing about happiness. It doesn’t require justification.
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The briefest moment shared with you-the longest on my mind.
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I build my walls from the mess they leave.
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If you love me for what you see, only your eyes would be in love with me.
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One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else.
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My indecision. I wanted everything because I didn’t want anything enough.
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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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The less you speak, the more weight your words will carry when you do.
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But how could I have stopped him from taking what was already his?
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I was there in your forgetting, until I was forgot.
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It is the mark of a great poet to write words that feel as though they have stood witness to your most intimate memory of love.
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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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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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