Chrissycunningham - Tumblr Posts

@chrissycunningham​​​​   ..   [ ᶜʰʳⁱˢˢʸ ]    :    #62    /    love   like   mine   -   stela  cole .         “    is  he  actually  really  𝘢𝘭𝘭  𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵   ?   ”     jaw  cradled  up  on  his  palm,      he’s  stooped  over  their  respective  bench,   slumped  with  legs  dangling     &.     a  canvas  shoe  swaying  a  short  inch  over  the  mess  of  loose  gravel  and  dead  leaves.     guys  like  that     -      basketball  guys,     schoolyard  sports  guys,    they’d  always  have  the  eyes  of  the  collective  population  sucked  into  their  orbit.     the  addition  of  dylan’s  for  some  good  ol’  fashioned   𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝  𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔   wasn’t  gonna  raise  any  flags    . . .     probably.

    “     carver's  like  the  prototype  of  a  future  politician,      ”       &.    the  acidity  bites  but  they’re  still  only  words  tumbling  softly  sans  the  cut  of  any  honest  malice,    curled  instead  around  the  cushioned  breadth  of  a  ridiculous  smile.     “     you  can  bank  on  my  judgement,     seriously    :      i’m  dating  me.     so.     impeccable  taste.     ”     [ x ]    

@chrissycunningham​​​​   ..   [ ᶜʰʳⁱˢˢʸ ]    :    mistletoe meme ⚘ . there's this principle to physics, a notion around the inability to accurately measure out the here &. now in active progression without inadvertently disrupting, without causing one probability or the other   ──    defeating the purpose. but bad faith theories on the laws of the physical world never really stuck just to the pages of textbooks, not when people themselves were just as made up of the stuff. there was the whole 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚌𝚝 bullshit, stubbornly sticking like a wad of gum on the bottom of his shoe way past its promised expiration date ( but then hadn't he promised himself other deadlines, too ? as a kid, planning things out just to stick loyal to financial convenience &. the same ol' same ol' of your small town identity. )

it's the disappointment that dylan could always balance, can roll from hand to hand while it gnawed lazily, painfully, distantly in some familiar numbed - out rhythm while he'd shove his wrists deep down into the lint - littered recesses of his coat pockets &. strolled backwards down the opposite aisle, hardly having to stretch much to peek at chrissy from over the top of a shelf piled up with boxes of christmas lights : there's a funny wordlessness to maintain. a whole schrödinger conundrum, something delicately precarious poised to crumple like a house of cards if he'd take it upon himself to flip open the lid of that box, to ever say 𝘩𝘦𝘺, 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘺, i know you used to hide in the ladies room after class, did you know i wanted to cry when ryan e. started making eyes at laura k. ? &. put a whole sledgehammer through that puffy fluffy peacefulness, that room to just rest on laurels. breathe. not think so much. 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 - “ i'm finding jack shit here, ” dylan'd finally sighed, arms braced up against the shelf, near enough now to nudge at the pompom dangling off her hat. “ not to . . . be confused with jack frost, no, found a ton of him, but. not really a gift i wanna put my name on   ──  oh ”

a hm lilts up towards something distractedly restrained, noting with a start what it was that'd sat stabbing him though the sleeve &. reaching with an idle hand to turn that bundle of abandoned store - brand mistletoe around &. around between his fingers. like a . . . fun show of humor from whatever guy's waiting upstairs, god or santa, what have you ( or just customers not putting stuff back ) “ universal bucket list item, no ? ” and it's something of an active effort to shoo off that lingering tinge of melancholy saturating the tug of a glum little smile, the rueful crease of his brow while tired eyes zeroed in on it, then flickered aside where her face came back into focus. it was always easiest taking comfort in the virtue of choice : always something to do, another path to take, a box to open, measure, even when the reality was set in stone to its irrevocable state, its 𝘪'𝘮 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶, i'm afraid of what's wrong, i'm afraid of you and i'm afraid of me. “ it's not . . . like a binding contract or anything, god could you imagine ? but i'm just thinking . . . ”

it's a slow idle stroll around the aisle 'til he'd reached her spot next to all the glittery garlands &. stocking stuffer knick knacks, a hushed laugh punching in a breath at the foot's worth of distance from the wisp of her bangs to the bent angle of the arm he'd raised to hold the mistletoe overhead by the ribbons. well. maybe in a more digestible version of all this, maybe he'd have been that library novel guy who drove up in a souped up travolta car &. got into a fist fight with the cheerleader's straight - laced boyfriend and magically solved all her problems, was maybe anything better than another bleeding heart, a soft hand cold from the weather mimicking the movies in the way he'd mechanically brushed the hair from her face, hesitated, and bent closer to kiss her, light and brief as nothing at all  ──  and if the melancholy'd been some far - removed itch irritated in the seasons of the compelled lovey dovey, it'd migrated now, spread out like a branch high up through the cavern of his throat. 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 . . . do you know that i . . . ?  [ x ]