Lang Leav

You were none, and now you're all; your worth will rise, the more I fall.

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

...you cannot control the depth of a wound another inflicts upon you.

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.

Death, like fiction, is brutal in its symmetry. Take this story and strip it down -all the way back- until you are left with two points. Two dots on a vast, blank canvas, separeted by a sea of white. Here, we have come to the first point, where the batj is drawn and the hand is reachinh for the razor blade. I will meet you at the next, by the axle of a screaming wheel, the revolution of a clock, the closing of an orbit.

We spoke on the phone for the first time that morning. My back against the chest of drawers, my knees tucked under my

Before I fellin love with words,with setting skies and singing birds__t was you I fellin love with first.

Because someday, in one way or another, you will be taken from me or I you.

He deftly dealt his swiftest blow--I fell further than, I was meant to go.

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

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.

Do you know what it is like,to lie in bed awake;with thoughts to hauntyou every night,of all your past mistakes.Knowing sleep will set it right - if you were not to wake.

You were you,and I was I;we were twobefore our time.I was yoursbefore I knew,and you have always been mine too.

That night, we talked the way old friends do, with candor and ease.

There was a feeling of inevitability when I met you. The sense that we would be together; that there would be a moment when you would look at me in a certain way, and we could cross the threshold from friendship into something so much more.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?I think you were always meant to know me a little better than anyone else. And our lives were fated to converge like some cosmic dance. I know there is terrible distance between us. But our bodies are made of celestial light, and we are hurtling through space and time, toward the most beautiful collision.

Without a doubt,I must read,all the booksI've read about.See the artworkshung on hooks,that I have only,seen in books.

TimeYou were the oneI wanted mostto stay.But time could notbe kept at bay.The more it goes,the more it's gone__he more it takes away.

First love," said Ida with a sigh. "That's the one that kills you.