Expect nothing

So... I've been told I have a tendency to "romanticize" things, regardless of how adamantly I argue to the contrary.
I say I'm cynical, and bitter, and blah blah blah... but I'm not fooling anyone.
I'm a sweet, tender, schmuck.

If I like someone, not necessarily in the physical sense but them as a person, I tend to hold their memory in a positive light. I ditch the shitty truth, like the fact that they have an enormous nose... or their teeth have nicotine stains, or I completely ignore their receding hairline.
In my mind's eye, I see them as perfect, adorable people... with awesome personalities... often, in halos of light, like some MichaelAngelo creation.

In regard to (I'm now traumatized about getting this idiom correct thanks to you, Mooney! hahaha) my love life, this tendency is amplified. This, I fully understand, fucks me up.

L'HISTOIRE DE MA VIE!

I swear I try to correct it, but it's pretty damn near impossible not to see the world through rose-colored glasses once someone makes my heart skip a beat.
Once reality hits, I'm out crying and being my bummy self... hating life.

I mope around for a few months, and then once I embrace solitude, I'm restored.

Hermosura.

... then one day, as I'm quietly reading the nutrition facts on jars of protein powder, a young man accidentally touches my hand as we both reach for the same spot on the shelf... and the vicious, rosy cycle restarts.