#Doten

[sluttyten]

This is all I care about right now

#doten

[tenleeing]

160630 Johnny x Doyoung x Ten x Dinner

160630 SMRookies Twitter update: 1 | 2 | 3

[#ROOKIESENTERTAINMENT APP] 20160125-20160620, FOR OUR 73,146 PRODUCERS. #JOHNNY #DOYOUNG #TEN #연남동 #DINNER

#as nct ten #x johnny #x doyoung #johnten #doten #pic: hangout

[puppuccinono]

#johndoten #johndo #johnten #doten #moodboard #nct 127 #nct #wayv

[techtechonmymind]

#look at my boys 🥺 #doten tunnel vision 24/7 in this house lol #nct #nct u #baggy jeans #nct nation #the 7th sense unit

[silveranimefan]

Today’s Manga: “Laughing Under the Clouds” (“Doten ni warau”) by Kemuri Karakara

Localized by TokyoPop

#laughing under the clouds #doten ni warau #kemuri karakara #karakara kemuri #manga

[ophelias-last-flower]

RIP Lizzie Doten, you would've loved Austria's 2023 Eurovision song

#audience for this meme: me #sorry if this is incomprehensible #but lizzie dotens poems are a great read #lizzie doten #eurovision #should've thought of this last may

[deadboyfriendd]

Cochise IV: Laudanum

Summary: Today, Michael Doten would die. Today, old graves would be exhumed and a mirror image will be held in front of you. Today, you would have to speak your husband’s name. 

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Outlaw/Doc Holliday!Eddie Munson x Reader, wild west/Tombstone!AU, drug use, drug overdose (apparent suicide), death of minor character by hanging, period-appropriate death and violence, angst, fluff, smut

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 2.5k

Author's Note: Thanks Drac @dr-aculaaa and Jo @jo-harrington for listening to me vent and keysmash about this and let me get emotional about starting to wrap up Cochise. Love you guys <3 this one is for you <3

On this day, you wore white. 

Fingers sift past black gown and black gown again, burning a little less when it brushes the taffeta silk of your wedding gown. Dry knees scrape against soft fabric– much too soft for you. Untouched cotton catches on the hair of your legs. It squeezes at your middle much like that ugly dreadful serpent rattled its warning cry into the hollows of your ears and coiled itself tight and ugly into your ribs once more. 

On this day you wore white because, the last time you wore black, you felt the ripples between your husband’s fingers one last time. You ran your thumbs over the creases of your own to remember what his were like. Your heels sunk soft into the powdery grains of the sand outside of The Whispering Sands, a tomb trapping the hollow of your body on this day. You felt the sun on your skin almost immediately, the same way it had day after day after day– though, today it felt more like a sting. You stood outside, but felt the tether thick and winding against your back, reeling you deeper into The Sands until you pulled so hard it snapped. 

Today, you would watch another man die. 

Your footsteps were deafening as they crunched over compacted gravel, softening again as you transitioned from roadway to nothingness again, the crowd silent and tense in wait. There was not a gallows with a trap door on this side of Cochise county. Instead, a monstrous ironwood hung dry and ravenous over the west side of the city like a claw protruding from beneath the surfaces of Hell– several hundred yards out. 

The trial was fast, nothing ever happened in Cochise county that wasn’t. You’d have half a mind to call a kangaroo when you saw one, though, it was hard to argue killing a government official while the whole town watched. 

The sheriff and the plaintiff, a regal man from the state commissioner’s office, sat still and hollow-faced. The sheriff stared off in the distance, eyes rimmed red with unshed tears. You had it in your heart to knock on his door later. You would stew in silence together. You would fix him a meal and serve him a drink and refuse the money that he would inevitably leave on the counter, and you would dab at his knuckles as they seeped a deep red blood– just as he had done for you. 

Michael stood atop a stool, perpendicular to the flanks of a a broken Salt River mare, less slovenly. More sober than you had ever seen him in this lifetime. He blubbered a mess and immediately you were saddened. A man reduced to pleading. A man broken of pride and envy. 

“Just shoot me. Lord, please just let me go fast.” 

“Mr. Michael Doten,” The commissioner began, voice monotonous and stale. He had done this too many times, “You have been tried by the state of Arizona, Cochise County, and found guilty of the crime of Murder. On the evening of twenty-first day of August, in the year of our lord 1894, you fired a single shot that ended the life of State Marshall, Milt Kilmer. This crime was witnessed by Sheriff Steve Harrington, Mr. Edward Munson, and multiple other witnesses…”

“Please, Lord. An eye for an eye. Please just kill me fast.”

“Michael Doten, by the power vested in me by the state of Arizona, I hereby sentence you to death by hanging. May the lord be with you.” 

“Please, Lord.”

Soft cries of prayers ring poignant in the stale air. A broken man’s last pleas for forgiveness. Steve mouths a soft, “I’m sorry.” to Michael, before placing a rucksack over his head, pulling the noosehead over his throat and squeezing his shoulder. The mare is commanded to run. Prayers turn to chokes and then bittersweet silence.

There is a gilded line between life and death. In that moment, the sun shines too bright, the hum of the earth becomes deafening. The desert respires one heavy and pungent sigh. And all is silent again. A saguaro congregation stands in the distance, their joshua tree choirs bow their spiny heads in reverence. A silent prayer washes over the desert. 

You haven't prayed in years, but you bow your head and say a silent prayer for Michael Doten. You aren’t quite sure what for. Peace in death, maybe. Or even the blissful dissonance for silence would suffice. By the way he chokes his final breaths, you know it is too late to hope for painlessness. 

You look up, and lock your vision into a familiar warmth. You know Eddie can feel it, too. 

He is walking this line. He is standing over an old grave, just the same as you are. He is up North, cool, damp soil slipping between numb fingers and falling over a casket, how desperately he wants to peel it open and feel her chest once more for breath– how desperately he wants to crawl inside and lay himself next to her. How desperately you yearned to do the same. 

His movements are swift and sudden, rhythmic and graceful as he pulls himself on to his stallion and rides off towards the south mountain in a blind rage. The crowd dissipates at a sickeningly slow rate, and you push through hordes of black gowns and coats in search of him. You knew The Sheriff would be okay, you knew he would need his time to fester. Instead, you ran after him, toes kicking up clouds of powdery sand that sprayed behind you in clouds. 

By the time you reached the south mountain, you were breathless. The white ruffles had torn at the seam, hanging down ragged and dirty in the sand beneath you. 

It was spring, and the spring superbloom hung heavy in sheets on the mountain. The sun casting a pale gradient haze across the sky, orange mallows bleeding their bloom into the end of day, a royal hue and a vibrant pink mixing into a farewell song. 

“I felt it, too, Eddie.” Even now, you feel it. He looks at you, face angry. Just for a second, you’re afraid he might yell. “Like you’re there again, like you–”

“You’re standing over a grave?” 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” 

The silence was deafening, tension like bitter aspic encasing you in a mould inescabable. The seconds that passed by as you waited for him to say something were stretched like taffy. You waded through the quicksand of these moments, thrashing and drawning yourself deeper in tension. Finally, you spoke:

“Y’know, when Wilhelm died…” It’s the first time you speak his name. He feels real again, like he’s standing in front of you. You reach for his hand but find Eddie’s instead. “...when Wilhelm died I felt like I died with him. Or at least, something did. It felt like I just up and left a big fat chunk of my right there in the ground with him.” 

You squeezed his hand, firm, yet gentle, “You would have liked him.”

“Really?” He squeezed yours back.

“Yes.” It wasn’t an explanation, but it was enough. 

“You would have hated Christine.” 

“Really?”

“Yes, ma’am, you are too much like each other.” 

“What was she like?’

“Beautiful,” He started with a smile, “Pretty as a mink stole, but stubborn to Hell and back again.”

 He goes on like this, and you can see her in front of you. Barefoot and dancing in the orange mallow, firey hair against a vibrant wash of color in the background. She glows. Heavenly and celestial. Her feet are light and nimble. She never sleeps, she says, she says she will never die. She is dancing, dancing. She says that she will never die. 

“She sounds wonderful.”

It does not seem like a suffice enough answer. To be compared to something so lovely– so grand, as something so plain and mended. 

“She was.”

“Wilhelm was too.” and he was, tall and beautiful and lively as she. He is also never sleeping. He is also dancing. He also says that he will never die. 

“You know, you never say anything about him.” He says to you, turning in your direction, finally. 

You shrugged, allowing yourself to meet his eyes for just a moment, “I guess I’m just so used to the whole town knowing everything about me.”

“Well, I’d like to know about you, too.” 

He is close now, impossibly close. Decadently close. A closeness you have not felt since Wilhelm. It was sickening to know how close you felt to both of them. 

“I’m just a widow. I run a bar.”

“But it wasn’t always that way.”

“No, not always.” 

“Then tell me about him.”

“He was tall. The tallest man I had ever met.” You go on like this, describing to Eddie in full detail the discrepancies and your favorite, beautiful details of your beloved, then, finally, you spoke of his death, “That night, a handful of bandoleros came into The Sands. They took everything. They cleaned out the humidor. The last thing they wanted was his ring– h-he, he wouldn’t give it up.” Your voice wobbles, you don’t stop the tear from rolling down your face. 

“Christine died in her sleep,” He starts, and it is confiding and all-encompassing, “I like to think that she was finally at peace with whatever she was fighting. Maybe herself. They said it was laudanum. They said we wouldn’t ever know if it was an accident or not.” 

You’d have half a mind to ask him what he thought. It was better saved for another day. But you would always wonder. 

“I’m sorry, Eddie.” You chided, it felt long-winded, insincere, even. Maybe because you had heard it so many times yourself. But by the nature of practicality it felt correct. 

He shrugged at the insincerity. If he felt it, he would never say it aloud. There was a pause, in which he completed his next words carefully. You were past informality now, just as you were past Edward or Wilhelm or Christine. 

 “We aren't so different, y’know.” You begin, backtracking on that ugly, overused phrase like a tar. He is looking outwardly into the distance. You wonder if he sees her dance too. 

He turns towards you, purple overtaking the sky in a solemn pitfall of night, “But we are” 

“And how is that?” You ask, almost snide. A smile curls at the corners of your lips. Orange and yellow overtake the bowl of mountains to the west. 

“Ma’am, I feel like I could love you.”

“Not the same way you loved her.”

“You can’t love me the same way you loved him.” 

“But I could try.” 

He is walking this line. He is standing over an old grave, just the same as you are. He is up North, cool, damp soil slipping between numb fingers and falling over a casket, how desperately he wants to peel it open and feel her chest once more for breath– how desperately he wants to crawl inside and lay himself next to her. How desperately you yearned to do the same. But this time, he finishes the pile and sets it with his hands. A final goodbye to Christine. 

He pulls you from the sand where you lay, pulls you into the bed of orange mallow and lays you to rest upon your back. 

He is slow to undress you, planting his lips like glue upon your skin to mend whatever pieces he can find. His fingers are nimble and fumbling as he pries apart the button snaps of your dresses with more force than necessary. Desperate to feel your skin– quick to take his time. 

He nips gentle marks across your chest, flesh gathering between teeth like ruffles. You do not yelp or cry out like Christine did. Instead, your breathy sigh washes over his face like a spring breeze, and your back arches to give leeway for his hands to find purchase. 

He is relentless in your dresses, pulling underclothes over the soft hair of your legs and feeling his way up again with wide, warm palms. His clothes come quickly after.

He undresses you in your entirety, then pauses to look over your body. You are not a woman who cowers away from his gaze, not a woman who slinks from his touch. You do not move your arms to cover yourself, instead, you let the waning heat of the sun bathe your skin in an ambergris orange glow. 

For a moment you stare at each other, taking in his form. Really, he is beautiful. Alabaster skin against a bleeding purple sky. He does not cower from your gaze, nor does he flaunt himself for you in a ridiculous masquerade of masculine offense. Instead he looms over you like the sun, warming your skin with his radiance. 

In him you do not see Wilhelm. Instead you see yourself. 

Mimicked faces of ecstasy mirror over when he pulls two gentle fingers through you, plunging them in a slow, methodic rhythm. It is soothing as much as it is arousing. A thumb rolling circles over the right places, placating a birdsong of quiet, breathless sighs not unlike his own. 

His skin is soft against yours when he enters you, flesh against flesh creating a warm friction masked by sand and sweat. 

His head is against your shoulder, teeth grazing over the flesh there and taking it in gently. His hands have purchase against your waist, keeping you grounded in place as he continues. His hair is soft against your neck, lye pungent in your nostrils as he encompasses your grief in his own jar and shelves it for another day. 

This evening, you will lay naked in the sea of this spring’s superbloom. He will roll the petals of the orange mallow over your skin and you will laugh as he twists the flower in circles. You have not laughed like this since Wilhelm. He has not laughed like this since Christine. 

On this day, you wear white. Married to your grief and eloped to this place.

On this day, you watched another man die, but you also breathed life into another man through nimble whispers and breathless sighs. 

On this day, you walked the plane between life and death. You held a man’s breath in your hands, so thick with his spirit you felt you could store it in a jar until you were ready to forgive him. 

On this day, you spoke Wilhelm’s name, and severed the tie that bound you to grief. 

You would not be healed today, but you say you will never die. 

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #cowboy!eddie munson x you #cowboy!eddie #cowboy!eddie munson #Spotify

[dojae-huh]

https://x.com/nctdaoylng/status/1772595358419271911?s=46&t=rTl1nDzicm9BJ7P539UIhw they come in a package 😂

Link The package.

Heh, sometimes I play a guessing game of what I will be linked/where the link is leading. Won this time.

It's another good sign that DoTen are doing better though.

Not JohnDo or JohnJae, and Johnny is the one who likes coffee.

#ask me away #merman10 #i'll be your morning star

[angelamariamedinaruiz]

ACADÉMICO

Los académicos piensan en la historia de la historia, en el lugar de las cosas, llenan copas de agua exactamente, vacían los sueños de los niños y se retiran con tristeza.

No es extraño que una tonadilla complicada les dé la razón.

Están bien acomodados en el mundo de las letras.

¿A caso se les ha olvidado que las rosas brotan del sudor de los profetas? Tal vez sus pétalos les devuelvan el valor, les presagien cierta suerte mágica y los doten con un poco de adivinación.

Para que el espíritu de los académicos despierte es necesario un poco de azar, aunque se esfume al llegar la noche: invocan a los muertos, miran las entrañas de un gato, escuchan el canto de las aves.

¿Tienen miedo de que sus sentidos se apoderen de su mente?

¿Los académicos han perdido la ilusión?

Puristas, cultos y clásicos languidecen, los he visto llorar sin penas y también reír sin alegría.

#escritura #cosas que escribo #pensamientos

[camp-counselor-life]

Flea Song

A repeat after me song

Flea Flea fly Flea fly flow Vistae Cumalada, cumalada, cumalada vistae Oh, no no no, not the vistea Eenie, meanie, decimeanie, oo walla wall meanie Hecta meani, solomeanie, oo walla wah A been diddle oten doten bo bo beddeeten dotten Watten tatten window watten shhhhh

#camp song queue #loud camp songs

[sluttyten]

not you releasing You In My Arms chapter 4 and me seeing this a few days later on Twitter 😭

https://x.com/fairyissabey/status/1695425074877370592?s=46

I know!! I'm so amused by this because like I just said to the other anon, like, I feel like we've rarely seen much Jaehyun and Renjun interactions and yet over the past few days we've had this and the little bit of them during the insta live

#asks #yima #also.... speaking of the insta live.. can we just talk about the doyoung and ten interaction #because i'm absolutely living for it #like obviously with them rehearsing for t7s and baggy jeans there was bound to be SOME doten #but like.... on the live??? with just the two of them actually like speaking to each other? #i love it

[tenleeing]

181031 SMTOWN WONDERLAND HALLOWEEN PARTY

Renjun, Ten, Kun:

피터팬🌱

모나리자🌹

미니언즈🤓

Renjun, Ten:

저…저…저 저기요..!

Johnny, Ten:

토니쟈니와 모나리자 (어흥😺)

Taeyong, Ten:

명화앞에서…📸

Yuta, Ten:

SMTOWN #SMTOWNWONDERLAND #NCT #TEN #YUTA #SMTSEOUL #SMmakesIT #MAKEsIT

Taeil, Ten:

집배원💌과 모나리자💋

Taeil, Doyoung, Ten:

SMTOWN #SMTOWNWONDERLAND #HALLOWEEN #NCT #DOYOUNG #TAEIL #TEN #SMTSEOUL #SMmakesIT #MAKEsIT

NCT:

💚NCT💚

NCT

SMTOWN #SMTOWNWONDERLAND

Tenalisa dancing to hiphop went viral on Twitter: currently 14.2M views. Posted on 191127 by Nahendery on Twitter.

Full video: NCT 2018 총출동 할로윈 전야제 | Happy Halloween Eve 🎃👻🍭

[N'-67] NCT 2018 Preparing for Halloween ┃Behind the Halloween 🎃👻🍭

Leeteuk, Shindong, Ten. 181031 GG Yuri Kwon IG story:

@NCT 텐아 ㅋㅋㅋ

alternative links: here & here.

181031 GG Taeyeon IG story:

#as nct ten #look: tenalisa #theme: halloween #x taeil #x johnny #x taeyong #x yuta #x doyoung #x kun #x renjun #x leeteuk #x shindong #x taeyeon #x kwon yuri #renten #johnten #taeten #kunten #doten #yuten #taeilten #pic: nct #pic: selca #vid: nct documentary

[themountainsays]

Bloodline omegaverse AU 👀

This is something I’m interested in. Which ranks would each of the madrigals be?

mmmmn I'd like to pick their ranks based on which would create a more interesting story/dynamic rather than the vibes I get from their personalities, and that means Isabela is an omega, always, because who doesn't like to see her suffer horribly? >:3c and at least one of them has to be an alpha in order for the arrangement to get arranged in the first place, so let's say Mira is an alpha. A baby alpha. She's probably a late bloomer and presented super late, so she's only now beginning to learn how to be a "good alpha", whatever that means. Considering how eager she is to please and make herself useful, I think she'd be the kind of alpha who is super nice and attentive and protective and takes such good care of everyone in the family. In her case, this means, like, making sure everyone drinks enough water, checking on everyone to see if anyone is sad, babysitting Antonio, escorting omega family members around town... speaking of, I imagine Alma would be an omega, but due to her personal history, she could never allow her to live the comfortable omega life, being taken care of and doten on by her alpha husband. Instead, she had to take on the leadership role, which she doesn't exactly feel comfortable in, but someone had to do it. Which is why she wants to give her omega granddaughter she life she never had... which is the same old interpretation that comes up in every omegaverse AU lmao but it's just too good and accurate to ignore. Though in this case, I wanna bring it up because I'm sure Mirabel is out there being a baby alpha and like, helping her cross the street and whatnot lmao.

As for everyone else.... mmm... I think Luisa would be a beta, even though, because of her gift, most people would have expected her to be an alpha... she's stronger than any alpha, because magic, but she stil feels inadequate, like she's not strong enough, or like she doesn't have the ability to protect everyone like she would if she were an alpha... She does have some "alpha behaviors", I guess, i.e being a highschool jock. But that's just how she is. She's lowkey jealous tiny little Mira got to be an alpha, but she's happy to help out with whatever she needs. In fact, despite having multiple alphas in the family, Luisa is still Mirabel's main role model. Mira learns the most from her and she wouldn't have it any other way.

As for their parents, mmmm, I'm gonna say beta Julieta and omega Agustín. Julieta being a beta means she was raised to keep peace and be the mature, responsible one, while other people could allow themselves more liberties... it can be frustrating, having her worth based on how well she can hold together her disfunctional family ;-; marrying an omega man was a small rebellion, though. Alma did not approve, believing they would struggle to have children, and that an omega man couldn't be a good match for her beta daughter, but she married him regardless. There is also the fact that Agustín was not part of the family, and it's tradition for them to "keep the blood pure". Alma 100% blames him for "dilluting the magic" and giving them a giftless child ;-;

Pepa and Bruno are both alphas, and they butted heads a lot, like soooo much omg THIS is what drove poor Julieta crazy, having two traumatized alphas for siblings, poor girl couldn't catch a breath because Pepa spent 23 hours a day bullying Bruno ;-;

Félix is canonically Alma's favorite son-in-law so I want him to be an omega too. Perfect match for Pepa being an alpha. Absolutely flawless. Of course, Pepa wasn't looking for an omega partner specifically, she fell in love with Félix because he was Félix, but Alma is out there thinking about grandchildren and stuff. It's also worth pointing out that, in this AU, because of the whole "keeping the bloodline pure", I imagine Félix would have been a second cousin or so. A bit more distant than what Alma would have wanted, and in fact, he doesn't have any magic, but Pedro didn't have magic either and their children still had magic, and she liked Félix so much and thought he was such a good match for Pepa, that she gave him a chance, and didn't regret it: unlike Agustín, he had three beautiful magical children.

Another note on Alma and Pedro: they were first cousins, and Alma in fact DOES have magic, though it's a bit less like powers and more like... the occassional ability to perform miracles? She performed a miracle and gave the family a new home, so there's that. Pedro didn't have any magic, but their family has been doing the "pure bloodline" for generations and while it doesn't work always, it's still a more reliable method than letting the magic be "dilluted". After Pedro's death though, Alma became obsessed with any following children having strong and powerful magic, to keep everyone safe...

#madrigalcest #shipcest #omegaverse #uhhh #bloodline au

[nso-csi]

151107 Doten interview

[silveranimefan]

Today’s Manga: “Doten ni warau” (“Laughing Under the Clouds”) by Kemuri Karaka

Localized by TokyoPop

#donten ni warau #laughing under the clouds #kemuri karakara #karakara #manga

[ocasoinefable]

Hoy me dijeron que pasó mucho tiempo sola, temen la ruptura. Ayer me confirmaron que vivo en una burbuja de cristal, que ante mis labios se levantan murallas, se abren precipicios y se esconden cielo a millones de años luz. Me mire las manos y encontré colinas arrasadas sobre arena, granos hecho de rocío y un fuego que se quemaba la intentar existir. Quise decir más no encontré palabras, y aguarde a una apresurada sonrisa; abrí los ojos y reí mientras por dentro se abría un mar que reventaba a cada respiro. Las personas parecen acogerlo y descubrir el velo que me separa de la vida y la muerte, el punto medio en el que contempló lo que es respirar y la falta de ello al no sentirme en el cuerpo, al ver un paso más no encontrar la horma de su huella, al ir de la raíz existencial a un espectro de sueño. Lo me lo dijeron quizás ayer, hoy o mañana... me lo mostraban al verme en sus pupilas y al saber en ese momento que me quedo y me pierdo sin color... ¿Cuándo fue llegué a esto, no sé, solo es así...? Me preguntó... ¿sí una flor se pregunta el por qué? La causa de su color y su destino a ser tierna y abierta al viento sin importar que tanto la moldeen o le doten de significados. La doten, sigue siendo flor entre los ojos, suave y perfumada así su aroma sea un mezcla de anís y rancios pretensiones, sigue siendo ella. Así sería por siempre rompiendo el esquema de un fin, burlando lo efímero de sus pétalos y su insignificante definición al ser a un solo sentido. Quise decir más solo tome cada cuarto de palabra y me esfume entre las paredes del cuerpo, me volví silencio al deletrear frente a un reflejo que indaga y un corazón que salta a las manos a escribir algo que ya había latido. Quise decirme algo al ver nudos en mis ojos y al saber que mi silencio corría como cascadas por los ojos de quienes me quieren y se preocupan al ver que no hay otra forma, que no tiene una explicación aceptable a la lógica que busca su propio fin, que no se puede doblar sobre linos de concreto mis tallos porque son remolinos que abren a cantar y se tragar su propio canto, que se bifurcar en las telas del papel y se hunden a volar como la mar. Quise decir a través de las letras, convencerme de que aun es posible tener una espacio en los días, poder vivir eso que solo leo e imagino desde los rincones, más sé que ni aquí o allí se me ha dado abrir en algo tangible, sigo entre el viento mirando nacer la brisa. Al final no dije nada, no por razón o falta de ella, solo a certeza y ver caer ante mis labios mudos la orna de la tierra y abrazar entre cada pliegue los ojos que me ven y aun viéndolo me brindan un espacio, abrace las notas que nacían al llorar en mi garganta. Me junte en un rincón a escribir, a caminar y detallar cada tramo de lo que se me presenta, esa vida que es todo en su infinita nada, en su absurda conjetura de ilusión y realidades llenas de sentirnos en el estado más sencillo y complejo.

[Cartas sin formato. 17 Mayo 2022; 12, 50 pm

Las entrañas de la vida. Parir desde la muerte eso que solo imagino, más no logro vivir, más no puedo tocar, de eso que soy ausente. De una vida]

#soy una carta más sin línea... sin destino... sin renglones... sin letras... sin vida... un fragmento de papel al viento.