Taming the horses


In the bedroom, the curtains were in the colour of my summer wear and the sunglasses were asking the shaver to get to work.

The windows were with the sunlight and the sounds were of humour.

The faces were in my imaginations and the conversations were being made.

The fruits on the trees had become gifts with new colours and the topping on this ice-cream was the moonlight of yesterday hovering my memory.

Suddenly, astonished about the Sunday, the call was for the sport of taming the wild horses in the television.


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