Frogs and princes

"I'm scared of commitment."

Four words.

They're just four little words.

Yet, how are you supposed to respond to that? Especially when those four little words bring on so much emotion. Storm clouds and confusion. Darkness and pathetic-ness. Tears and rain. Worthlessness and hurt.

Okay, that's a little overly dramatic.

But no lies, I was hurt. Because when I thought about it, he's not scared of commitment. Not at all. He has all these responsibilities and duties that he follows through with fabulously. He is the absolute epitome of committed. If he promised something, if he starts something, he always follows through. And not half-heartedly either. He's in it 150%. He goes all the way, and then some.

So it hurts when you realize that he's not scared of commitment. He's just scared of committing to you.

And it's me, of all people. If anyone has the right to be scared of commitment, it's me. Me, with my dark and damaged past with twisty ex-boyfriends. With the cheating exes baggage. Me, with my amazing knack of being either the girl guys date before they find The One or the girl guys date right after The Girl They Could Have Sworn WAS The One. I'm never The One They Can Bring Home to Mom.

You, with your previous 6-year relationship. You, who have more female friends than any boy I know because girls love how you're such a good friend and listener.

You are not allowed to be scared of commitment.

Because I've been the girl who's been stood up. Cheated on. Rebounded with. Spring fling'd. And I'm still more than excited about how relationships can make me and mold me into a better person. If I'm not scared of commitment, you can't be. I refuse to let you make that excuse. No matter how classic of a guy line that might be.

So go ahead and ask me for more time. Tell me that you need time to get over your ex baggage. That's fine. But I'm not waiting. Because I see you. And you're holding on so desperately to the past. Of what's familiar. And trust me, I get it. I get it, because I've done it.

And that's how I know that I don't want to be your place-holder. So don't tell me you have excess baggage. Get rid of it. Or unpack. But don't go leading me on while you figure that out.

Now, I only wish I knew how to act normally around you, like nothing has changed, when really, everything has.