A/N: Yesh, I'm addicted to drabbles. And writing them for people I love. Honestly doesn't bother me. This will be two different stories, each three drabbles/chapters a pop.
For you, my beloved Bewby, on this here V-day. Which is not Virgin-Day, by the by. Tis for you for so many reasons it's mildly insane. I love you to bits smaller than atoms.
Lisa, my Basil (just go with it), thank you. An unending, wordless amount.
Disclaimer: What doesn't belong to me, belongs to the Meyer-machine.
If I was a bird, I'd never sit perched anywhere.
Not when he's around.
Not when I know he's out there.
Know he's mine.
I'd always be flying.
Flying, flying, flying.
My wings would always be going.
Always fluttering.
Mimicking me. My whole body. My everything.
My stomach.
Flutter.
My eyes, lids, lashes.
Flutter.
My muscles.
Flutter.
My hands.
Flutter.
My breath.
Flutter.
And my heart.
Flutter.
But he's not around.
Maybe he's not even out there at all, anymore.