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Today a new aroma is unlocked, a keypad just broke and the freedoms gather to check. Yes, this is it. 

 ¿Can we have a talk again? one about anything you like and wish, knowledge is limited to one ability to speech and that is not the good way of leaving this world, ¿can we give each other a look again? finding an influx for our minds and silent words to fill our mouth together, maybe even interconnected but not in an intercourse. Internally there is a place where the soul goes to sleep when the detrained restrains you, ¿why don't we find that room and force the soul out again? please find that room and fill it.

 A little jail cell that has a painting of a wall not a window, why windows when you can always have more wall to paint and draw wards on them. We'll get to see it once it becomes so small and minuscule that no even a germ can see the verbs wrote in those notes on the small cage. ¿What are we talking about? there's a reverb on the brain that talks back when you act and there is no in between, you can say there is no brain or there is no reverberation or revelation of sorts in that cap, what a little cell, no amount of numbers and bifurcations can represent the desire and the soul, this is no sound. 

 Mostly the days consist of random lines of thoughts that one cannot remember, cannot feel forever, one will not make them real in a moment and nothing goes on with it, it's personal, so personal that one cannot imagine what others imagines all day, daydreaming at night, moon awaken at noon, ¿what stops us to decide? we drip history and culture and sensitivity and specificity and knowledge and it sorrows the soul of those alone, so alone. A burrow where we hide and hibernate, and so recalculate, ¿what is going on? dreams are so flak and hostile at the same time, I don't have any dreams by myself now or never i had, for me i really have no smile powder anymore, never more said that, for me and only for me myself in, no dreams is eternal but, and only at my presence i remember them, realized that the freak was in an eleven bullet jacket. And i was left bulletproof. 

¿I don't think anymore? I think I don't think, no I don't believe I do, I believe in something else, I craved once and then craved the entire life. cruelly waging myself the future of you and I in minds I ignore for greater goods in my hermit. Believing about a forgotten some while ago while the begotten son came to defile the sides of the feeling as a broad would on the passion, passion that passed now in dirt and blood turning into filth, passion that is waste and wasted passion. ¿Can I not love you anymore?

¿Can't I ask the certain things?