Unrequited love is so boring. Weeping under a blue-black sky is for suckers or maniacs.

...he had a way of taking your hand which made it clear he'd have to be the one to let go."

From Alice Hoffman's "Local Girls", pg.102.

His hands are saying that he wants to hold her. His feet are saying that he wants to chase after her... He's probably forgotten that I'm here, beside him

Its been six weeks," he murmured. "Six weeks I've wanted you. I know how you move, and how the sunlight makes a shadow on the curve of your cheek, and the shape of your ear." He chucked harshly then turned his head on the pillow to look at her. "I'm dying," he said. He dropped his fist against his chest. "Right here, you're killing me.

Why should you think that I should woo in scorn?
Scorn and derision never come in tears:
Look, when I vow, I weep; and vows so born,
In their nativity all truth appears.
How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?

If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.