what is rare is limited, we can't we see what is not, this is the problem of the human,he does not love because it does not exist, it is not visible as chocolate or bread, love is passing or not passing, we do not call, we do not choose, it falls like a rain, it's just wet, it touches the skin, soft but once it rains in large drops, quick, we must protect ourselves, but we are open fields, a platitude of everyday life, no relief, no roof under which we could watch the rain fall, the more time passes more clothing heavier, all those memories immersed in nostalgia, but what it was really is remembered wrongly, it can not be what was is lost, the youth is not only age is also a carefree mind, this light is lost little by little, we arrive at adulthood with a brain in a square well trained, nothing beyond, the reason is new, but the beast is not far it can arise when you least expect it, you can be overwhelmed by a disgusting emotion, everything is possible, there is no limit, the brain can produce the best to worst is freedom the human