Do I like horses yet?

Day 13: I wake up cold and alone in my bed. The wind whistles beside my feet as I stand up. I see my horse head mask on the floor and shed a single tear… ”what has brought me to this point?…”

Day 12: I have finally escaped the horse’s lair. It was dark and smelly. I thought about my life.

Day 8 Day 9: The horses have kidnapped me. I think it’s been two days now.

Day 7: I find another horse sticker book in my shelf from when I was young. I put them all on my journal. I am surrounded in a cloak of irony and angst. I hate horses.

Day 6: The frost nips aggressively at my nose as I traverse these cold and woe-begotten city streets. I hear the gentle clopping of a carriage by Central Park and I feel the corners of my mouth droop downward. I stare, wide-eyed with flared nostrils at a hideous beast- not short  from the dark fantasy of an eager child’s nightmare. I am filled with disgust. I do not like horses.

Day 5: Today I waited outside, three minutes for a taxi in the cold winter air with nothing but my forest green trenchcoat and a dress. The streets were vacant and the clouds hung low with the onset feeling of unease. I do not like horses.

Day 4: It is December 27th. I feel as if the world has halted into some sort of “Holiday Limbo”… A blanket of gloom wraps itself around my window in the form melted snow, reminding me of the time my mother forced me to go horseback riding at 5:00 AM in California. I fell off the nasty beast named Party Girl” and cried… I still hate horses.

Day 3: Christmas is over. The madness has seized-… yet I cannot shake this overpowering longing for… something… I know not what it is. I do, however, know it is not the longing for a horse.

Day 2: Now it is truly Christmas and the snow that once silently fell to the Earth is forever gone. I lay by my window lazily awaiting my father’s voice. I wish to open presents. I swear to god if they are horse-themed I will flip my shit. I hate horses.

Day 2: It is now Christmas, though I still feel the harsh night of the eve upon the very bristles of my neck. The chills of winter air echo through my spine reminding me of my deep and penetrating hatred of horses.