I stole ur horse

I went to the mini-market down the road to collect my thoughts. The owner was there, gazing through the bottomless window into the mountains, glass of rosé next to her. Or like she always calls it ’’RoseH’’ with an extra aitch. The tablecloth was full of pictures of lotes, flowers that grow only in pretty places, and I found it completely kitch. I wish ur eyes could see this non-order of things on the selves.

I wish we had our rain boots on. The cold and greasy air coming behind the Southern island makes my legs shaky and my throat sore. This shore is for us, this shore is for all the found footballs we collected, for all the tomato soups we drank together. Wish my grandma was here with us, with her lilac stoles, layered on her shoulders, so used, that the yarn slowly takes a bigger breath and disappears. I hope you never disappear. I really really like ur rain boots.

The pale grey space I entered looks somehow familiar; the corpses of melted candles, and the tales of long-lived frustrations serving tea for one another, the sticky pans on kitchen floor covered in the trust of nature. Makes me sort of want to puke, or maybe laugh. Coffee cup on the table with a big title ’’ Not all Heros wear capes’’ and I laugh so much because of the spelling mistake, so much because of the figure in the picture cries, so much because I really am graving for something to drink right now. For my not so surprise, the sink is from the 18th century like the rest of the space, walls covered in wave looking lacquered metalware, toles, which is a fancier word to use for them. You really don’t want to give a go to ur zinc allergies in this space.

This short story consist of three different glimpses which all frames the sentence ''I stole ur horse'' by using anagrams.