There is no heartbreak that cannot be fixed by another woman… or more of them… mending the heart is a cumbersome process that involves the right amount of hate, with a bit of cold serving and lots of tiny bits of bitterness.
You stir all the feelings into a delicious soup, mix them with real life situations so that the final product is a blended mass of indistinguishable ingredients, sweet or bitter, depending on the proportion you use in the making process.
And you put it into a bowl, the smaller – the better, and drink it into small sips so that you will never forget what un-enjoyable the taste is. And the time of making it (or drinking it, for that matter) is inversely proportional with the number of times you have done this before.
At the end, it is only a matter of taking the chance… a chance that putting the heart on your sleeve is somewhat like looking in the mirror and not like hitting your head into a brick wall.