A/N: I wrote this ages ago and it isn't exactly a masterpiece but I felt like I should post something, so here it is...
Those of you who are following my Klaroline fic, 'Coming Home To You', there will be a chapter up in a few days. I've had an awful case of writer's block in the short term, but my long-term plot is developed and I'm confident that it will pull itself together soon. Please don't give up on me yet! xD
My Miss Mystic Falls
You're peering over the balcony with wide, anxious doe eyes.
You're looking for him, but he's not here, and so, without even thinking, I push my way through the crowd to meet you as you descend the stairs.
There might have been a time when watching you hover by yourself, thrown by the sudden disappearance of your date, would have served as idle amusement at an otherwise dull event, but I can't quite remember it just now, because you're at the bottom of the stairs, standing right in front of me.
You're the most beautiful thing I've seen in a long, long time.
But I don't say it.
Because, of course, we're all business.
Keeping track of Stefan. You because you care for him and I because I care for myself. Because I want to stay here in Mystic Falls.
Where you happen to be.
Wanting to stay has nothing to do with you.
It was a while before I stopped believing that internal white lie.
Because of course it's you.
You, the girl with one Salvatore on your arm and the other on his knees.
This bothers me; I've never been one for kneeling.
But today, it's me on your arm.
Today, it's me escorting you outside and it's me dancing with you.
A dance without contact. A dance that's all about looking at your partner, staring straight into their eyes.
I can do that.
I could look into your eyes for an eternity.
Not because they're hers, which was my chosen excuse for weeks.
Because nothing of yours is hers anymore.
You're not The Human Girl Who Looks Like Katherine, anymore.
You're Elena.
You're Elena, fixing your soft, dark eyes on me with an unwavering gaze.
You're Elena, placing your hand in mine as we twirl across the floor for a second dance.
You're Elena, glowing up on the stage, concealing your anxiety with a beam for the audience.
Even when you don't win.
I'm surprised. Irritated. That stupid little sash was yours. Why didn't they choose you?
Unlike me, you don't look surprised. You don't even look disappointed.
You just want to look for Stefan.
Your face says 'I don't have time for you right now, Damon.', and so I don't tell you what has been teetering at the tip of my tongue since you first walked down those stairs.
I don't tell you that you're my Miss Mystic Falls.