You wake up every morning and sing to the mirror: I think you are crazy. The answer is: I’ll see you in a next life.
Masochist, you listen to those songs you, consciously, don’t want to. “That’s not me”, it says. And you keep torturing yourself. Congratulate yourself every day.

Just don’t leave. But who leaves it’s me. Again and again. – The eternal return.
I’m not living, I’m just killing time, because your tiny shiny sweet strongly lovely hand is a sea away from mine. That’s all. Just don’t leave. Or wait. According to this musical masochism, true love waits. And so do I.