People don’t change. They just get better at hiding who they truly are. 

I watched the way the sunlight danced across the windows— memorized the way the world looked before you finally decided to leave. Leave, not me, because honestly, you were never truly with me, so there’s no way you could leave. 

That was something that my mind had taken a while to understand.

“I’ll be back.” Your hand was already on the silver rounded doorknob, pushing into the lock, toying with it— I still haven’t decided if it’s a nervous tick or if you just do it to pass the time. You were already clicking it into a different place, already pushing against the frame of the door like you were ready to be done with this conversation. With me. 

Although we both know you could never truly be done with me because we never even got a proper chance to start. That’s something else that my mind had taken a while to understand. You always came crawling back. There would never be a need to put up a fight at your departure.

People don’t change. They just get better at hiding who they truly are. Or worse. 

“Okay.” I don’t look away from the window when I answer. I like watching the reflections of the sunlight. I like watching the way the little dust particles dance across the air, as they belong. They dance like they’re wanted. As if they don’t disappear without the sunlight— like they are the stars of their own YA movie. 

I wish I could be as brave as the dust in the air. Stayed in a place I am clearly not wanted, among people that would swat and spray me away— doing everything in their power to get rid of me, and then smiling delightfully when the blinds are closed and I am no longer visible.

I wish I could lack the self-awareness of not being wanted. At least not truly wanted. 

I don’t think truly has ever been one of your strong suits. You just pick the lie you know I like the most. The lie that looks like the prettiest trophy on my shelf— the one that I could swallow seeing every day. The one that I have the least problem with pretending is true because if I acknowledge the inauthenticity of it all you’ll just take your trophy back and I’ll have nothing in it’s place. 

I guess there could be greater things to be mad about. 

Instead, I tell you I like how the trophy glistens in the light. Yeah. Except the trophy doesn’t glisten at all— but it is covered in a thin film of dust, and it does well reflecting sunlight. 

Some people never change, and some patterns are better sustained than broken. Even the most unhealthy ones. 

Your hand is still on the doorknob. You still haven’t left even though you said you were going to and I rubbed my stamp of approval on the notion. You’re still staring at me as I blankly stare at the dust that floats by my face, and I wonder how many particles will turn out to be dust bunnies behind the couch. 

“I’m coming back, I swear.” I don’t bother asking you where you’re going. I’m doing this new thing where I protect my peace. 

“I didn’t say anything else.” I’m still not looking at you as your eyes bore holes into the side of my body not being warmed by the sun’s rays. And apparently, you also know that people never change.

“Well, you didn’t have to.” Are you feeling guilty? Is that why you prolonged the conversation? Would you like me to beg you to stay so that you could reject me? 

But you could never truly reject me because you never accepted me first. 

I guess I don’t change drastically either. I just get better at hiding my disdain.