Commitment is comfortable.
It is safe.
Commitment is sleeping, wrapped in his arms for the night
It is watching a movie on demand every Saturday afternoon
Commitment is knowing what he is going to say, before he gets around to saying it
It’s granny panties and a frumpy bra
Commitment is not brushing your hair before you see him
Well… commitment is not brushing your teeth before you see him
It’s unshaven legs and stubbly faces
It’s peeing with the door open and announcing your bowel movements
Commitment is comfortable discomfort
It’s knowing that he will be impressed no matter what, or not giving him the option to feel otherwise
Commitment is eating at a themed chain restaurant in New York City
It’s bulky sweaters in the fall and nylon running shorts in the summer
It’s explaining your metaphors and pointing out your similes
Commitment is boring.

I want excitement.
I want romance.
I want extremes of every emotion.
I want the mystery of his hand on my cheek

On my arm

On my back

On my thigh
I want to love without the precautions of a relationship

Without the stop and go of precedents and expectations
Instead of gradually falling out of love, I want sudden heartbreak

The quick twist of a lover’s hand, his fingers entwined in my veins, his palm

Pressing against my heart
I want to feel something besides contentment
I wasn’t to be ecstatic with sadness or depressed with joy
I want to drive with the map wedged under a seat and get lost

Lost in his eyes

Lost in his mind

Lost in his soul
I want the teenage danger of temporary emotions and infinite hearts
I want to bet it all on final jeopardy
I want to flirt with the stars

Without the sun holding me back
I want more than commitment can give me.