Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering.
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
Love knows not distance; it hath no continent; its eyes are for the stars.
I love when I reach Marcus on the phone and as he says hello, I can hear the music he's listening to in the background. That music is the sound of him without me. How he surrounds himself when I'm not there, which is almost all the time.
Unfortunately, I'm more experienced than I care to admit on long-distance relationships. Just because that is my life. I travel because I love to. As a result, I have to sort of make it work when a relationship kind of comes into view.
I imagine a line, a white line, painted on the sand and on the ocean, from me to you.
There is love in holding and there is love in letting go.
I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal.
The distant soul can shake the distant friend's soul and make the longing felt, over untold miles.
And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.
If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than it was because he was he, and I was I.
Obviously, a long-distance relationship is hard. But, like anything worth having, you make it work.
I'll never see them again. I know that. And they know that. And knowing this, we say farewell.
Distance makes the heart grow fonder.
Distance does not break off the friendship absolutely, but only the activity of it.
This is the sad bed of chosen chastity because you are miles and mountains away.
The simple lack of her is more to me than others' presence.
If you listen to the wind very carefully, you'll be able to hear me whisper my love for you.
Things must be felt with the heart.
Odd how much it hurts when a friend moves away- and leaves behind only silence.
I fell in love with her when we were together, then fell deeper in love with her in the years we were apart.
The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.
The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again.
Our hours in love have wings; in absence, crutches.
And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
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