Lang Leav Quotes

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.

The Friendship Bond

There is that one friend whom you no longer speak to, who
is no longer part of your life. If you saw them across the
street, you would turn your head away and they would do
the same.
But if they ever called you in the middle of the night, you
would be there for them, sure as the sun. And you know that
if you were the one to make that call, no matter how much
time has passed or how distant you've become, they would
be there for you.

Where It Hurts

There 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.

It's amazing what people create using their pain. Work that is touched by melancholy has its own unique beauty. Even the word 'melancholy' is pretty, the way it rolls on your tongue. I think sadness adds something to literature that is unique. It's an ingredient like . . ." I thought for a moment. "Like salt. Salt has that power to completely transform a dish. I think sadness has that same transformative effect in literature.

I used to think people were like lighthouses. That they were yhere 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.

You were the one, I wanted most to stay.
But time could not be kept at bay.
The more it goes, the more it's gone, the more it takes away.

For Yours

You were the one who taught her strength and humility in equal parts. You were the one who lifted her up, brought her down to her knees. And now here she is, the girl who has never had to ask for anyone's love, asking for yours.s

You are a toolbox, and you have to add stuff to it and build on it. I think the more tools you have, the better life gets." "I like that idea." "That's my mission in life. To keep adding to the toolbox.

We spoke on the phone for the first time that morning. My back against the chest of drawers, my knees tucked under my chin.
"What are you doing?" You ask.
"Staring at my socks," I reply, "I wore them inside out."
"You dork."
At some point in the following months, our conversation turns.
"I'm going to kiss you really slow, while fucking you really fast.

Don't let them tell you that your pain should be confined to the past, that it bears no relevance to the present.

In the dying embers and blackened twigs of a ravaged forest, who could distinguish where the first spark was lit? Only the arsionist knows the exact location where that match was struck.

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.

Someone who has your heart is not entitled to your body.

Moments
That's the tragedy of growing up - knowing you'll run out of feeling something new for the first time. the sad things is you only get so many of those moments - a handful if you're lucky - and then you spend the rest of your life turning them over in your head.

I think that's why you meant as much to me as you did, why I held on for so long. I didn't know if back then, but you were the last time I would ever feel anything new.

The greatest injustice I have suffered has come under the pretense of love.

The less you speak, the more weight your words will carry when you do.

She lends her pen,
to thoughts of him,
that flow from it,
in her solitary.
For she is his poet,
And he is her poetry.

Meant to Be

If they were meant to be in your life, nothing cover ever make them leave. If they weren't, nothing in the world could make them stay.

Every letter
that she types;
every keystroke
that she strikes-
To spell your name
again and again,
is all she ever
wants to write.

That's the thing about writers -on one hand evrything is sacred to them, but, on the other, nothing really is.

You can create something that is pure genius, but you have to get your timing right.

Nothing felt like mine anymore, not after you. All those little things that defined me; small sentimental trinkets, car keys, pin codes, and passwords. They all felt like you. And more than anything else, my number - the one you boldly asked for that night, amidst a sea of people, under a sky of talking satellites and glowing stars.

You said no matter how many times you erased me from your phone, you would still recognize that number when it flashed on your screen. The series of sixes and nines, like the dip of my waist to the curves of my hips, your hands pressed into the small of my back. Nines and sixes that were reminiscent of two contented cats, curled together like a pair of speech marks. You said if you could never hold me or kiss me again, you could live with that. But you couldn't bear the thought of us not speaking and asked, at the very least, could I allow you that one thing?

I wonder what went through your mind the day you dialed my number to find it had been disconnected. If your imagination had raced with thoughts of what new city I run to and who was sharing my bed. Isn't it strange how much of our lives are interchangeable, how little is truly ours. Someone else's ring tone, someone else's broken heart. These are the things we inherit by choice or by chance.

And it wasn't my choice to love you but it was mine to leave. I don't think the moon ever meant to be a satellite, kept in loving orbit, locked in hopeless inertia, des

Be patient. Your voice will find its way into the world, not in one loud instance but a steady trickle that turns into a deluge.

Thoughts
Dawn turns to day,
as stars are dispersed;
wherever I lay,
I think of you first.

The sun has arisen,
the sky, a sad blue.
I quietly listen -
the wind sings of you.

The thoughts we each keep,
that are closer to heart,
we think as we sleep -
and you're always my last

I want you to know how happy you once made me and though you really did hurt me, in the end, I was better for it. I don't know if what we had was love, but if it wasn't, I hope never to fall in love. Because of you, I know I am too fragile to bear it.

Anything for Love

Fear isn't a reason when it come to love - it's an excuse. Anyone who has ever been in love will tell you that. When it happens, you don't think about the consequences. You'd turn your life upside down to be with that person. You'd do anything for them.

I am already nostalgic for what we have, even with you still here.

I loved you more than love allowed

And I sighed and wept for what could not be
and for all that could have been.

Woman's Anthem
Women are fierce. They are powerful. No matter what language they speak, how they dress, or the work they choose to do. What matters is they have a choice, and the freedom to carve out a life for themselves.
As long as we know women who are strong and resilient, we must respect them, carry them forward, lift them up.
For they are the product of all our other selves, the women we were, the ones we strive to be, the collective struggle of our mothers, our sisters, our daughters.
Our salvation will only come if we stand together

What was it like to lose him? Asked Sorrow.
There was a long pause before I responded:
It was like hearing every goodbye ever said to
me - said all at once.

I've grown quiet now. You won't hear me talk about you anymore. It doesn't hurt like it used to. I suppose that is something to be thankful for.

Strength

It was a kind love, a selfless love. I was an explorer and you were a traveller. We met at crossroads. I saw love in your smile and I recognized in for the first time in my life. But you had a plane to catch and I'm already home.

Wounded
A bruise is tender
but does not last,
it leaves me as
I always was.
But a wound I take
much more to heart,
for a scar will always
leave its mark.
And if you should ask me
which you are,
my answer is -
you are a scar.

There is a certain quality to words that when strung in a certain way
has an almost hypnotic effect.

Sea of Strangers In a sea of strangers, you've longed to know me. Your life spent sailing to my shores. The arms that yearn to someday hold me, will ache beneath the heavy oars. Please take your time and take it slowly; as all you do will run its course. And nothing else can take what only - was always meant as solely yours.

I suppose it's only human nature to add and substract from our memories; to recall them the way we feel they should be remembered. After all, our lives are a living work of art - shouldn't we be allowed to shape it in any way we choose?

A Stranger There is a love I reminisce, like a seed I've never sown. Of lips that I am yet to kiss, and eyes not met my own. Hands that wrap around my wrists, and arms that feel like home. I wonder how it is I miss, these things I've never known.

We're kids, aren't we?
Yes, kids with grown-up powers.

Wishful Thinking
You say you are over me,
my heart -
it skips,
it sinks.

I see you now with someone new,
I stare,
I stare,
I blink.

Someday, I'll be over you,
I know,
I know -
I think.

Her poetry is written on the ghost of trees, whispered on the lips of lovers.
As a little girl, she would drift in and out of libraries filled with dead poets and their musky scent. She held them in her hands and breathed them in
wanting so much to be part of their world ...
It was on her sixteenth birthday that she first fell in love. With a boy who brought her red roses and white lies. When he broke her heart, she cried for days.
Then hopeful, she sat with a pen in her hand, poised over the blank white sheet, but it refused to draw blood ...
She learned too late that poets are among the damned, cursed to commiserate over their loss, to reach with outstretched hands
hands that will never know the weight of what they seek.

He swept in like a tsunami, wave after wave, and I didn't stand a chance. All those warnings, all the things they tried to prepare me for - lost in an instant - to the enormity of what I felt.

You forsake all that you hold dear,
for a dream that is not your own;
you would rather live a lie
than live your life alone

Regrets
Timing is irrelevant when two people are meant for each other. It's what I once believed.
But we met during a time when I was such a mess, when I still had so much to figure out. How could I have known how crucial every word, every action was or how losing you would be something I would always regret?
If only you could have met me now, how different it would be. How much I have changed. How I have grown. I learned so much from all the mistakes I made with you. I just wish I had made them with someone else.

I was loved in my dreams last night. It echoed through me like thunder - I felt it through and through.

When I woke up, I couldn't shake the feeling of his arms around me and the sound of his voice, already half forgotten.

The loss was indescribable. And I couldn't help that feeling of certainty that I have felt this way before. Somewhere in time, throughout the ages, I was loved - I was loved and my eyes were wide open.

That was the moment you should have told her what your heart was telling you. If you had allowed it, she could have been your whole world. All you had to do was open the door. All you had to say was, come in.

It was beautifully worded and painfully read; the things that were written, were those never said

It was a gentle love, a tactile love. It was all hands and lips and hearts in tandem. There was motion in our bodies and emotion in our discourse. We were a symphony of melody and melancholy. When you find peace in another's presence, there is no mistaken.

I'm the one having to pander to you. I'm sick of being the one doing all the chasing. I'm not asking you to make me a priority - I know you've got a lot going on. But at least meet me halfway.

It was like being seen after a perpetual darkness, I replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence.

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.

Which is why I am not here to tell you tomorrow will be a new day. That the sun will go on shining. Or there are plenty of fish in the sea. What I will tell you is this; it's okay to be hurting as much as you are. What you are feeling is not only completely valid but necessary - because it makes you so much more human. And though I can't promise it will get better any time soon, I can tell you that it will - eventually. For now, all you can do is take your time. Take all the time you need.

Ana was the original sad girl. She held the unofficial title long before her death. We all became sad girls after that. At her funeral, everyone wore black because it was customary and because it was the color that best defined Ana.

I know love because I am in love. Because of how long I've loved. Because of the man I love.

Love used to be a beautiful mirage, a moonbeam on the water I tried to cup in my hands. Now it is a grand oak tre, tried and tested, roots driving deep down into the earth. I have a love that takes me across oceans. A love that tells me I am home, no matter where I am in the world.

Impossibility

Do you know the feeling when you're so happy that you can't imagine ever being sad again? Or when you're so sad that you no longer believe you could ever be happy? When you tell me you love me, I always think of that strange emotion - that feeling of impossibility. You say you love me, and you can't imagine a future without me in it, yet all I can think of is how you must have felt the same way once about someone else.

Tell me that story again--the one where the world ends how it began with a boy who loves a girl and a girl who loves a boy. And she is deaf and he is blind and he tells her he loves her over and over and she writes him every day but never hears a thing back.

I wish the love
I have come to meet,
was not an inch
within my reach.

I wish the prize
was so far-flung,
that I would not cry
if it were not won.

I wish the dream
was placed so high
that my panicked heart -
would dare not try.

His Kiss:
He has me at his every whim;
everything starts with him.
To all the boys I used to kiss
everything stops with his.

To love is a dare,
when hope and despair,
are gates upon it hinges.

Take Back Your Power

Greet the world with no expectation.
Love as though you have never been hurt or betrayed.
Let go of the ones who take so much from you
yet offer nothing in return.

This is how you take back your power.

People get dumped all the time, and it sucks, but you know what you do? You cry; you smash a few plates; you go to a karaoke bar and make a fool of yourself. However you choose to deal with it, it's your shit to handle. It's your burden to carry. You don't drag other people down with you. You don't turn up on the doorstep in the middle of the night acting like a raving lunatic.

A ROLLERCOASTER
You will find him in
my highs and lows;
in my mind,
he'll to and fro.
He's the tallest person,
that I know
and so he keeps me,
on my toes.

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?

Everything that happened here
happened long ago.

And though you know it's wrongful,
there is someone else you long for.

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.

For the past has taught
to not be caught,
in what is not
worth pursuing -

Now I knew why I had been hollowed out, why my insides were chipped away with a chisel and mallet. It was to make room for this new feeling, this love that was so vast, so expansive it could not have fit into the vessel I once was.

The glass bottle does not know its own contents. It has no idea whether it is a vessel for the most delicious apple cider, a lovingly crafted wine, or a bitter poison.

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

I whispered things, I'd ever said to anyone else before, held on to him like I was drowning. Condensation fogged the windows and ran in rivulets down the glass. The sounds coming from the street outside felt as if they were a world away. This wasn't how I imagined it would be, but it was perfect, and when it was over, I already was thinking about the next time.

I used to think I couldn't go a day without your smile. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back.
Then, that day arrived and it was so damn hard but the next was harder. I knew with a sinking feeling it was going to get worse, and I wasn't going to be okay for a very long time.
Because losing someone isn't an occasion or an event. It doesn't just happen once. It happens over and over again. I lose you every time I pick up your favorite coffee mug; whenever that one song plays on the radio, or when I discover your old t-shirt at the bottom of my laundry pile.
I lose you every time I think of kissing you, holding you, or wanting you. I go to bed at night and lose you, when I wish could tell you about my day. And in the morning, when I wake and reach for the empty space across the sheets, begin to lose you all over again.

What You Wish For
Change is the anthem of this year. For better. For worse. I am bracing myself for the crash, steeling myself for the fall. I am swimming in a sky-blue sea where I can't tell which way is up.
You know, I used to be a love letter, folding endlessly into myself. For your eyes only. Now I am torn into a thousand pieces, my soul a burst of confetti raining words onto the world.
Something tells me it's been a long time coming. Someone whispers, Be careful what you wish for. Because the heart can't retract what it once wanted. Didn't you know it is the universal law?
Now go back to the years you waited. All that time you spent yearning. Be careful what you wish for. It never comes the way you think.

Every time I see my name, I hear it in your voice

Fear isn't a reason when it comes to love--it's an excuse. Anyone who has ever been in love will tell you that.

The Fear of Losing You Without meaning to, he's disarmed me, with kisses that soothe and alarm me. In arms that terrify and calm me.

That's the thing about happiness. It doesn't require justification.

I remember the first time I saw my favorite painting, how its fragile beauty caught my breath. And I thought if the artist had painted just one brushstroke less, he could have told an entirely different story. If he began with a smear of red instead of blue, it could have been a chapter instead of an era.

The End
"I don't know what to say," he said.
"It's okay," she replied, "I know what we are - and I know what we're not.

Their purpose isn't to save you but to show you how to save yourself.

Love is a game
of tic-tac-toe,
constantly waiting
for the next x or o.

Searching for the one thing, that would set my sad soul free.

And if nothing ever comes of it, at least I have known the feeling, this wonderful sense of optimism. It is something I can always keep close to me--to draw from in my darkest hour like a ray of unspent sunshine. No matter what happens next, I will always be glad to know there is someone like you in this world.

I thought you were a keeper,
I wish I could
have kept you.

I often think of where you are and if you're happy. Are you in love? I hope she is gentle. I know you and I are the same in that way--we bruise a little more easily than most. You see, our souls were made in the same breath.

I know I'm running late--I'm sorry. Things haven't worked out the way I planned. But believe me when I tell you I am on my way.

Until then think of me, dream of me and I will do the same. One day I will learn your name, and I will write it somewhere on this page. And we will realize that we have known each other all along.

I will celebrate this life of mine, with or without you.

Who you love and who loves you back determines so much in your life.

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.

I have always thought of memories as fragments, like colored glass shards in a kaleidoscope. It is the source of great beauty in our lives, yet the cause of such heartache.

Here and now I love you, for the moment you have my heart. But you are entitled to my future, you have no ownership of my past.

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.

The Girl She Was

She doesn't feel like herself. Not anymore. she was different once.

Now she is like a watered-down version, pale and thin. She slips through the cracks unnoticed. She fades into the background, afraid of saying the wrong thing. She grows sharp edges and wont let anyone get close to her.

She doesn't know how she came to be like this, how she ended up here. she only remembers the way she used to be - wild and reckless. Bold and unapologetic.

Had I known, I would not have left you,
alone beneath those stars,
on the night when I last saw you,
not knowing it was the last.

How do I thank my mother
for giving me the life
she desperately wanted
for herself?

Don't stay where you are needed. Go where you are loved

Summer was felt a little more;
in autumn I began to fall.
When winter came with all its white,
you were mine to kiss good night.

But how could I have stopped him from taking what was already his?

Her heart is played like well worn strings
In her eyes the sadness sings
Of one who was destined of better things

When someone stirs a world of emotion in you and it's so intense you can barely stand to be with him.