I wish I could put a pen in your hand and gently remind you how the world has given you poetry and now you must give it back.
LANG LEAVIt 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.
More Lang Leav Quotes
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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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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 coming to the end of a difficult period in my life, though when the end isn’t in plain sight, you don’t realize how close you are.
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In time she will learn, not to miss them.
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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 used to think I couldn’t go a day without your smile. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back.
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I will celebrate this life of mine, with or without you. The moon does not need the sun to tell her she is already whole.
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It’s so dark right now, I can’t see any light around me. That’s because the light is coming from you. You can’t see it but everyone else can.
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Every day I measure the weight of my past against the present and feel the drag of what could have been.
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Yes, I think it is entirely possible to fall in love with someone you’ve never met. Physicality is an expression of intimacy- not an indication of it.
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My heart is like a time capsule-it keeps safe the memory of you. I know it’s harder with you gone than if you had never been here at all-but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
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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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Some days I feel like my soul is being pulled in one direction and my heart in another.
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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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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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To love is a dare, when hope and despair, are gates upon it hinges.
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What I feel for you is at once the expression of language and the absence of it.
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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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In a sea of strangers, you’ve longed to know me. Your life spent sailing to my shores.
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If 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.
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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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Give me something I can write about.
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I loved you once and now I must spend my whole life explaining why.
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I had no way of knowing, when I was sitting alone in that tiny bedroom, that in just a few short months, I would meet the love of my life: a man who lived across the ocean from me, in a little house by the sea.
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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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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?
LANG LEAV