(Writer’s note: Wearing floral pajamas, had two cups of coffee today and a slight progress on rage control)

When someone comes with terms and conditions – no, everyone comes with terms and conditions, in fact. When they do, when they tell, when they list them down, I do not see why it is difficult to comprehend upon it. If a person does not flowers, simply do not get them any. If a person, per se, does not appreciate the crossword puzzle in their daily paper, it takes four straight lines to cut the section out. What I never understand is why people take it on such offense if a person simply asks another to not do something they unappreciate. People who suddenly feel the need to force their comfort on something which another person is discomforted by, is a question I will never know the answer to. It is not as if they get up in the morning to stop your next sip on tea or ask you not to read the sports section or what happened lately in a town that you are concerned about.
It is about them.
Sometimes, only sometimes, is it humorous to me when people take it on such offense and feel the need to do exactly the opposite – to become pathetic rebellions. The thing is, no one in this world is quite important enough to hold on to – someone who breaks a mutual understanding. If one closely notices, people who come with such terms and conditions usually require such small things. Such small things that matter so awful much to them. Maybe a color they dislike, maybe a drink, maybe a word or two, a fabric or even a specific flower. Why must you force these little things on someone who lives in a world filled with varieties of of that category whose one subcategory they do not prefer? Why must you make them like a color, knowing there are so many colors and each has so many shades and each shade has just as many tones? I expect no answer, darling, do not waste your time finding one.
I personally do not confess quite a lot and I never will after this until I stop breathing but I have disconnected with quite a lot of people because of them breaking my conditions. You see, for me, be it 5 or even 300 people.. I have gradually developed the let go of people whenever they wish. Not because of any emotional trauma that I faced or as any person has been betrayed in their teenage years, but simply because of not caring too much.
Now, I hate the color orange with no explanations. I despise the color and have disposed every item, clothing and jewelry that contained the very color into a large black bag. After that day, no one saw pink, red, yellow, black, gray, green, blue and their many shades. Suddenly it was about making me like the color orange. Why? I will never know.
Something that has bothered quite a lot of people is, why is this girl asking us to do something against our will? Why does she have conditions attached to her? Is she special?
I never asked anyone to stay, neither did I beg for it nor did I mourn over it. If mine do not suit you, you may leave. If you, though, have terms in return then I would gladly want to know in order to respect them. I would not mind it if you wished for a painting without the color green or wanted to sit somewhere with dimmer lighting. You may not like popcorns during movies or be in love with me and do not wish for me to see your little diary, I shall respect everything.
My conditions, however, are concerned with what I share. As amusing as it might sound to the same people who adore to talk about the mental state of a human, I do not like it if I share any music with someone and they pass it on, share it online or post lyrics. I have seen what my request has done to people, how they reacted, as if I had snatched a few generation old jewelry of theirs. “Did you write it?” Is a rather common question asked when I refuse to name a song. Well, no, I have not because if I did, I would actually expect the world to know about it. I sit down, searching lists, writing several names down, downloading all, then judging each song – yes, yes I have not written it but I feel entitled to it. I request the same for movies or anything I tell. I despise the idea of groups, of cliques, gangs, teams. I do not wish for a third person to know something I tell one person. Why must it be so difficult for people to respect another person’s anxiety? Behavior? Choice? Paranoia? How ever you may put it.
I was told that I never tell anyone how much it bothers me to see a song shared online that I had personally sent to someone, or a picture or even a message.

It must really ache your bones to follow someone else’s terms for their sake, hating them for not being special while knowing that your worth is the same as any human on this fatal planet.


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