I didn’t know what love is, until I met her. Sure, I slept with many women. And I’ve been in a relationship with one. But it wasn’t real. My love for her wasn’t real. It seemed real while we were together. I’ve been convinced that it was real for 145 years. And then I met Elena. At the time I was still sure that I’m in love with Katherine, but I started to feel something different. Something I didn’t know. Something I couldn’t name. So I denied it for few months. I denied it when everyone said “You love her”; I denied it when even she was sure that I love her. And then Katherine came back.
“I’ve never loved you,” She said. “It was always Stefan.”
Drinking was my instant solution. But then I found myself in the morning after hungover, without any memory from last night except few glimpses of me killing Jeremy and me forcing Elena to kiss me. But worse than my memory loss or my hangover, the most irritating thing I left with from that night, was the fact that I failed Elena. She hated me, and I hated myself. I could drink because of it, drink everything away, but I also could become a better man. A man that Elena could forgive. So I tried to change. I didn’t kill for a while, didn’t feed on humans. Only blood bags from the hospital. And as I changed, the unknown feeling, that was more powerful than everything I have ever felt in the 171 years of my existence, was growing inside me. And as it grew, I could name it. I could admit it. I embraced it, although I had nothing to do about it.
“I love you, Elena.” I said. I said it for myself more than I said it for her. I knew that it would be painful for her if I admit it. She knew that I love her, but it wasn’t real for her until I said it. And then it was unreal for her, again. She forgot, and everything was the same as it was before I said those words. For her. But I changed. I finally knew that I love her. I knew what love feels like.
With Katherine, I could do anything to be with her. I wanted her to be mine and mine only. With Elena, I can do anything to keep her safe. I can do anything to make her happy.
I can look from the side, watching her kissing, hugging, whispering to Stefan.
I watch her constantly saying “I love Stefan”, but I don’t care.
Of course, I want her to love me. I want to kiss her, to hug her, to let her know that I love her, although she already knows.
But I do anything but promising her to keep her safe, to save Stefan and be there for her, no matter what.
Because I know it’s the only way I can make her happy.
And that’s how I know what love is.
I used to think that love means wanting the person you love to be with you.
Now I know that it means to want the person you love to be safe. To be happy.
And at this moment, I was lucky enough to be the person to make her happy.
I was lucky enough to be her shoulder to lean on, her rock, the most stable thing in her falling-apart world. [x]This. Le sigh.
Oh, Damon.
(Source: salvaporn, via theemancipationofhaily)
