I was bored and moody last night and bam! This one-sided MIGGY poem/one-shot was born.
Poor Igs never gets the girl…
Disclaimer: don't own anything MR related
You study her from across the room
as she chews on her bottom lip; it's a force of habit.
A cute habit. A habit that you could sit and watch her do for hours.
Why?
Because you're seven years old
and this is the first girl you've ever loved.
It's silly really. You're so young; how do you even know what love is?
You don't. Not completely.
But you do know that you desperately want to be near her,
you want to whisper in her ear
and make her laugh
just like he does.
And looking back, you can't help but wonder
how different things might have been
if your crate had been next to hers
in the white room of your creation.
But it wasn't.
And this little brown-winged angel unknowingly stole your heart
just months before
they stole your eyes.
...
Fast forward about eight years,
where you blink back tears
and slowly raise your hand.
You're furious.
You feel betrayed.
You feel heart broken.
You didn't want it to come to this,
voting the girl of your dreams
out of the only family either of you had ever known.
But it must be done.
She's hurting the flock and she's hurting you.
You can't remember exactly when
you found them together,
arms and lips intertwined.
You don't want to remember.
You don't want to recall how you heard her apologize
in that stuttering voice of hers.
You can still feel the heat of her blush on your skin.
He simply chuckled and pressed his lips to her cheek
with a sickening plop that churned your stomach.
No, you don't want to remember.
So you send her away
and try to forget.
...
You lay with your head on your arm
some four years later.
A quiet giggle floats through the still air
and you squeeze your blue eyes tight.
It's them again.
None of the others can hear as well as you do,
they don't have the same super-human senses.
Sometimes your gift can be such a curse.
You wonder what you did to deserve this,
to hear the object of your affections
being loved by another.
The thin walls of the bedroom allow you to hear everything.
You stare blankly at the ceiling,
seeing nothing,
and imagine what it would be like
to be in his place.
For your hands to be the ones tangled in her sandy snares,
for your arms to be the ones that hold her.
For your name to be the one she whispers,
not his.
Another soft moan escapes
from the other side of the wall,
and you fold your wings around yourself to block out,
not only them,
but your childish fantasies as well.
You know things will be better in the future,
you will find someone who will fill the ragged wound
that she had created.
But until that day comes,
you curl in on yourself and simply watch
as she falls, ever so slowly,
into your brother's arms.
R&R?