The User Agreement

I scroll. I scroll like this is breathing, like my thumb knows the way better than my heart. Terms and conditions. Small letters. Big consequences. I don’t read them. No one reads them. We just agree because disagreement feels heavier than ignorance. I click Accept the way I accept being tired, being watched, being slowly divided into data. mewhere between paragraph twelve and the promise of “improved experience,” I lose my name. I become a pattern, a preference, a habit at 2:13 a.m. I am no longer a person— I am a behavior. ey say: We respect your privacy. The way strangers respect boundaries by standing close enough to hear your thoughts. The way mirrors respect honesty by showing everything and apologizing for nothing. agree to be tracked, not because I want to be, but because the door only opens after I surrender the key. is agreement feels familiar. Like jobs that promise growth and deliver exhaustion. Like love that says forever but hides an exit clause in silence. Like governments. Like gods. Like systems that smile while collecting pieces of you. scroll faster now. Legal language blurs into lullabies. “May.” “Shall.” “Not liable.” Words that sound like water but cut like glass. mewhere it says I can opt out— but only if I already understand what I was never taught to read. think about consent. How it’s supposed to be informed, enthusiastic, reversible. This is none of those things. This is survival. This is clicking Yes because the alternative is digital exile. wonder how many versions of me exist now on servers that never sleep. Me when I searched for answers. Me when I searched for escape. Me when I searched for someone who sounded like they cared. onder if grief has metadata. If loneliness is stored in the cloud. If healing gets flagged as unusual activity. agreement says they may change the terms at any time. Which feels honest, actually. Life does that too. lick Accept again. Because I want access. Because I want connection. Because I am human and humans choose convenience over clarity when clarity hurts. don’t hate the system. I just wish it didn’t pretend we were equals at the table. e checkbox is empty. Waiting. So am I. accept. Not because I agree— but because this is how the world works now.