unrequited-love

Why doesn't she want me? The sun is rising now, but it is 93,000,000 miles away and I can't get warm... She won't be cold. She has the sun inside her.

Did you hear about Katie Parkinson? ... She's going out with Christopher... They've been kissing.""It was like a Semtex explosion in my brain. I did not know whether to cry or run away.

Stephen had spared no expense in making himself more unhappy, his own position as a rejected lover clearer.

I know you__e forgotten me, but I__l remember you as long as I live.

What do you want from me, Snow?""Nothing," he says. And he means it, the actual bastard.

It was February sixth: eight days until Valentine's Day. I was dateless, as usual, deep in the vice grip of unrequited love. It was bad enough not having a boyfriend for New Year's Eve. Now I had to cope with Valentine datelessness, feeling consummate social pressure from every retailer in America who stuck hearts and cupids in their windows by January second to rub it in.

JJ glared at his slumbering frame. Long legs, lethal in denim, his button fly already enticingly popped, abdomen all ridged and naked, begging for a finger or a tongue to discover the hills and valleys, dark shaggy hair spread around his head like a freaking halo on her pillow. Well too damn bad for this broken-down angel. She was the one who__ worked her ass off until two am. Not him. And she wanted her bed back.

I think if you like somebody you have to tell them. It might be embarrassing to say it, but you will never regret stepping up. I know from personal experience, however, that you should not keep telling a girl that you like her after she tells you she isn't into it. You should not keep riding your bike by her house either.

She is the weakness you think of as strength while I am the strength you have no idea is there.

Limerence is an obsessive, unrequited love. It is actually a disorder. A disease if you will.

I thought that you could hear all my unspoken words.....for I misunderstood the language of my own love was so intense and your ears were so brittle!

What an unrequited love it is, this thirst! But is it love, when it is unrequited?

I'm not unlucky at love, just incredibly lucky with celibacy.

The truth is that there is almost nothing as tiresome as unwanted love.

She hated that she was still so desperate for a glimpse of him, but it had been this way for years.

They laughed at him, but they didn't know, they didn't know about all the nice things he had. No one knew. No one. Only someday he'd see somebody different, somebody to give his things to, somebody who would give him all their things. Yes. He'd like that. He'd know her when he saw her. He'd know just what to say.

I loved you even when you forgot me.And__or a little while__ou loved me back.

Oh yes, it's very tragic. Why does everyone always like love stories? What about absence-of-love stories? Aren't they much more common?