When you've done something you wish you hadn't, or hadn't done something you wish you had.
To argue which is worse is an exercise in futility; for the weight of their pain is subjective: the falling out of a friendship because of an unbridled tongue, the loss of the one you love because you didn't speak up, someone committing suicide because of something you'd said. The pain is there, festering; gnawing at your soul; relentlessly reminding you of its reason for existing: yourself. There's no one else you can blame; for there is no one else TO blame. All you can do is bear this burden, because it is a burden you've forced yourself to bear. And you do so willingly- subconsciously seeing it as penance for your sins.
"Nowhere can a man run- no matter how far- from that which resides in his mind's eye. In vain, he persuades himself that he's able, that he can roam the world eternally until his thoughts fall to the wayside in exhaustion, that he can outlast them as though they were bound by mortal limitations. In his delusion, he forgets that he cannot outrun himself; for his antagonist does not rest from without, but from within. Like a demon sitting on his shoulder, the imp whispers his barbs wherever he goes, piercing him with every step; and yet he continues, thinking his consolation to be measured in miles..."
Regret cannot be satisfied with distance- that is the moral of this story.
When you finally amass the courage to hold your heart in your hands as you make your stand before them, and nothing less than an "I love you, too," will suffice, but there's no reciprocation. Where a response of indifference cuts as deep as one of rejection, causing the very heart you bore before them to bleed uncontrollably.
Sometimes loving someone means letting them be what you may not want them to be- even if that means being with someone else. It's hard to accept, I know, but loving them means letting them be THEM, not you. Despite how much you may want to, you can't desire otherwise, because you would be destroying that which you loved so much about them: that they are who they are. And to desire that- the destruction of that which makes them who they are, denying them of finding happiness outside yourself- because you can't have it, is to do the most unloving thing I can think of; for, in doing that, you wouldn't be concerned about their happiness, but only your own. If you really love them, then, let them be them, not you, and find happiness in their happiness. It's only if you're able to do that that can you say you ever really loved them at all. Even though you're lovelorn because their love wasn't provided in reciprocation, that doesn't make your love for them any less real. Take heart; you're worth it.
Where the rose-colored lenses of the mind play their trick, filtering its perceptions to see that which it chooses to see.
In infatuation, one sees the object of their affection as they wish; in Love, one sees them as they are.
Love is that thing, that feeling, that state of being that takes the empty isolation within ourselves and imbues it with light; the color of the canvas of our souls. The warmth that fills you as you think about the one you love is indescribable, irreplaceable, and you do nothing but smile; for there is nothing you want to do but smile; there's nothing you CAN do except smile. The memories and thoughts of them make themselves known without warning; and all you can do is resist, but you'd rather surrender. It compels you, but its coercion is freeing.
It's so much more than mere caring, mere affection, mere emotion: it's that which makes you feel most yourself; for in Loving them, you are yourself. The mere idea of losing them, or harm coming to them, breaks your heart; for you are broken with them. You are no longer two, distinct people, but one, united being; one man, one woman, one flesh.
The very aim of Love is to bind itself unto the thing Beloved. If it doesn't, it's something else- its empty shadow (and even shadows are real). Love- True, Romantic Love- is not something which you give to another, but that which you choose to give no other- for there is no other to whom you wish to give it.
There's a saying that Love is blind, but True Love isn't; for it sees things as they are- faults and all- and Loves them anyway.
These three words carry the weight of the world: "I Love you."
Person 1: "I Love you."
Person 2: "I Love you, too."
Being alone isn't loneliness. Loneliness is being alone when you desire otherwise.
Solitude is the wanted withdrawal of oneself. Loneliness is the unwanted withdrawal of others.
The psychological shadow of dishonesty, it is the willing exchange of the truth for a lie, because the lie is more palatable.
Those in denial can concoct even the strangest of fictions, but the Truth is stranger than Fiction; for we have made the Fiction to suit ourselves.
Something that can only be given away. So, give it to those who matter.
Love God, yourself, your friends, and your family. Give THEM your time.