WB Yeats

I read a poem recently that hit so close to home I had to express it on here:

"Never give all the heart, for love will hardly seem worth thinking of.
To passionate women if it seem certain and they never dream that
it fades out from kiss to kiss.
For everything that's lovely is but a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright. For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough?
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost
For he gave all his heart and lost."
-W.B. Yeats

Oh the cynic I am this poem rings so true to my ears.  I cannot even watch two lovers kiss now without growing incredibly bitter.  Is it because of my abhorrent jealousy? Is it because in two weeks I will have gone  ONE entire year without even so much as a touch from another?  I am unsure.  But I do know this:
I am tired of putting myself out there and getting nothing in return.
I am done.
I am over it.
I am moving forward with life with love far behind me.