Everyday I say to myself: " tomorrow you' re not going to call him", but then, the day after, I always find an excuse to do it. Either he calls me, or I just can't resist. Or maybe I go out for a stroll, and my feet spontaneously take me to his house.
I remember my grandma used to tell me a fairy-tale about a magnetic mountain: the ships that got to close to it were attracted to it and destroyed. And all the sailors would day crashed bye the collapsing bits of ship.