Quotes About Heartache

Alas, the heart is not a metaphor, or at least not always a metaphor.

Your eyes told me to trust you, your heart's beat told me you were afraid of getting broken too, the only thing you didn't tell me was how to let go once you were gone...

Smile that gorgeous smile for me one more time before I know that it will never be completely for me.

There is a broken song that plays over in my head each time I hear someone say his name.

Don't come back, if you do I'll be counting down the days even though I know you'll leave all over again. So please do this one thing for me and don't come back...

I wonder what my last words to you, the only boy I have loved, will be.

He can't really love anyone, you know, and in the end such people are always alone, no matter how much other people once loved them.

He went on to tell me that before the workshop he hadn't cried for years, even when his father died, even when his wife told him she was leaving. "I am so glad to finally feel something." He sighed, touching his heart. "Even if I have to cry every day for a couple of years, it's better than having a frozen heart." Ever

The ground and the air were as nothing to her, for all her life had been plucked out and there was nothing left but the knowledge that it had been taken away.

Unrequited love–plain desperate aboveboard boy-chasing–turned you into a salesperson, and what you were selling was something he didn't want, couldn't use, would never miss. Unrequited love was deciding to be useless, and I could never abide uselessness.

I should have wanted you. I wanted so much to want you.

I will not ask you for forgiveness. What I have done is unforgivable. I was so lost in hatred and revenge. I never dreamed that I could love you so much. You stole what was left of my heart. And now I've lost you forever.

What was wrong with her? Why did things like this keep happening to her? Love wasn't supposed to hurt, yet it felt like all she knew when it came to love was pain. Every time she opened her heart, she just got burned. Or, in this case, frozen. And she was getting sick and tired of it.

There is no knowledge like the bitter knowledge of old loves.

Wherever I go, I'll always see you. You'll always be with me. And there's no happy ending coming here, no way a story that started on a night that's burned into my heart will end the way I wish it could. You're really gone, no last words, and no matter how many letters I write to you, you're never going to reply. You're never going to say good-bye. So I will. Good-bye, Julia. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for being you.

I deserved the shaking and the headaches and the fact that every single time I took a breath I felt a squeezing in my chest, my heart beating even though I wished it wasn't.

sometimes, you have to break your own heart.

But the past couple of days I've missed you so much it's felt like missing you is all I am.

Anger can try to break your heart, but sorrow is what will. What can. What does.

And yet here I am. Broken and bleeding on the inside, heartsick, I am here.

Something in me, in my bruised heart, wakes up, and even though I'm terrified, I don't push the feeling away.

It will be over soon, finally, but the thing about hearts is that they want to keep beating. They want to keep beating.

I hurt all over even more now, like someone has shattered my insides, like I've been torn apart and put back together but I'm missing something. Her. And him. My brother.

I will always carry Mom in my heart. I will always miss her. I will always wish she was here.