As much as I like you, my new measure is this:
If you cannot show me these things appropriately to the admittedly very nebulous stage we are at, i have to call it quits. I'm sorry.
I really like you, I do. But I am an anxious ball of anxiety ridden past-wounds messiness and I can't put myself through the hell of someone who either can't or won't be these things, no matter the depth or sensitivity I see in your eyes.