Janusz Leon Wisniewski. The repetition of the fate (№ 11320)

Just to suffer. To yearn for it to tear and again to glue the photo to prove to myself that it's not worth it to call all kinds of names, to despise her, to promise himself to revenge it, pounding hands on table, to feel abandoned, humiliated, crushed. Finding anything related to her and in a rage to destroy, and the next day regret that nothing of it remained. Relentlessly to convince myself that she was not and never staney worthy of him, that he deserves a woman a hundred times better. To write her hate-filled letter and not send to call her at night, unable to utter a word. To feel pain, hatred, distrust, stiffness. Or at least to drink to the border of the lethargy that brings the oblivion and in the morning to Wake up and see the empty bottles by the bed. Promise yourself that you'll never forgive her, and in half an hour to forgive. Every day to forget her, and swear that tomorrow I will forget really. Eager to see her, when you feel what you feel bad, and feeling worse, mentally cursing himself for that desire.