Quotes About Longing

I don't want to forget any of this. The way he's looking at me at this very moment. How, when he kisses me, I still get shivers down my back, every time. I want to hold on to everything so tight.

We sat around the kitchen table picking off of foil-covered plates. Conrad kept sneaking looks at me, and every time I looked back, he looked away. I'm right here, I wanted to tell him. I'm still here.

Conrad calling me again—that was enough to make me forget how to breathe.

He took a step closer. "I don't know if I'll ever get you out of my system, not completely. I have this... feeling. That you'll always be there. Here." Conrad clawed at his heart and then dropped his hand.

Underneath my lashes I watched him, and I thought,Come back. Be the you I love and remember

I hoped I never saw him again. If I ever had to look at him again, if he looked at me the way he did that day, it would break me.

I could make him mine. But I don't want him. I want someone else. It feels strange to have spent so much time wishing for something, for someone, and then one day, suddenly, to just stop.

Josh Sanderson, I liked you first. By all rights, you were mine. And if it had been me, I'd have packed you in my suitcase and taken you with me, or, you know what, I would have stayed. I would never have left you. Not in a million years, not for anything.

She wanted letters. Real letters written in his handwriting on actual paper that she could hold and keep and read whenever the mood struck her. They were proof, solid and tangible, that someone was thinking about her.

It was like coming home after you'd been gone a long, long time. It held a million promises of summer and of what just might be.

Do you know what it's like to like someone so much you can't stand it and know that they'll never feel the same way? Probably not. People like you don't have to suffer through those kind of things.

When he backed away, his pupils were huge and unfocused. He blinked, and then he cleared his throat. "Belly," he said, and his voice was foggy. He didn't say anything else, just my name. "Do you still--" Care. Think about me. Want me. Roughly, he said, "Yes. Yes, I still." And then we were kissing again.

I didn't dare look at Conrad. I was afraid my love for him and my need for him to say yes would be written on my face like a poem.

He sighs a defeated kind of sigh that hurts my heart. "Goddamn it, Kavinsky." "I'm sorry. I like you, too, John, I really do. I wish . . . I wish we got to go to that eighth grade formal." And then John Ambrose McClaren says one last thing, a thing that makes my heart swell. "I don't think it was our time then. I guess it isn't now, either." John looks over at me, his gaze steady. "But one day maybe it will be.

for belly, conrad is the sun. and when the sun comes out, the stars disappear.

I could survive for months, years, on a crush.

His eyes were these bleak and empty abysses, like sockets. There was nothing there. The boy I thought I knew so well was gone. He looked so lost sitting there. I felt that old lurch, that gravitational pull, that desire to inhabit him—like wherever he was in this world, I would know where to find him, and I would do it. I would find him and take him home. I would take care of him, just like Susannah wanted.

I don't know if i'll ever get you out of my system, not completely. I have… this feeling. That you'll always be there. Here.

At first it was scary, but then I liked it too. Part of me wants to just stay next to you forever. I could easily do that. I could love you forever.

He has the look of a Handsome Boy from a different time. He could be a dashing World War I soldier, handsome enough for a girl to wait years for him to come back from war, so handsome she could wait forever.

This is the moment I realize I don't love him, that I haven't for a while. That maybe I never did. Because he's right there for the taking: I could kiss him again; I could make him mine. But I don't want him. I want someone else.

Everybody had somebody but me.

When someone's been gone a long time, at first you save up all the things you want to tell them. You try to keep track of everything in your head. But it's like trying to hold on to a fistful of sand: all the little bits slip out of your hands, and then you're just clutching air and grit.

You'll go about your day, and you will miss him at first, but over time it will ease. It will lessen.