ROMANIAN VERSION

Qua era pierdut in ganduri, suparat pe el insusi si pe depresia postalcoolica prin care trecea. Intins in patul imens, zacea ascultand zumzetul masinilor trecand pe strada, cantecul voios al pasarelelor pasind pe marginea geamului, si, departe in adancul lui, zgomotul infernal al gandurilor ciocnindu-se. Astepta somnul purificator in acest pat strain, dar totusi atat de familiar. Si somnul intarzaia, zburand in cercuri largi pe deasupra lui, mult prea departe. El isi ucidea gandurile, unul cate unul, zgomotul lor murind incet si aducand somnul mai aproape. Si intr-un tarziu, somnul veni, chiar daca un gand inca se zbatea in capul lui... ea. Dar era un gand placut acum, oricat de amar ar fi fost uneori. Si iata ca ochii incepura sa se inchida. Si zambetul incepu sa creasca, incet, dar sigur. Atunci, inainte ca somnul sa intre usor in toata fiinta sa, el simtii. Simtii o mana plimbandu-si tandru degetele prin parul sau argintiu, si doua buze dulci lipindui-se de obraz si dandu-i o doza din drogul de care avea nevoie cel mai mult, dragostea. Eterna frica omeneasca de necunoscut ii sopti sa se trezeasca. Dar era prea tarziu. Asternuturile se stransera aproape dureros de tare in jurul sau. Mana continua sa ii mangaie parul, iar cele doua buze dulci si straine ii alunecara pe buzele lui. Ochii se deschisera intr-un tarziu, incet. Prea incet pentru a mai zari faptura caruia vroiau sa-i multumeasca. Tot ce reusira sa surprinda fu doar asternutul cazand inapoi in nefiinta sa. Apoi somnul cazu din nou, mai greu si mai adanc ca prima oara. Visele pe care le-a adus nu-si mai aveau rostul, pentru ca doar gandul la cele petrecute revenea din nou si din nou in mintea adormita si drogata de cel mai puternic drog. Ore trecura, si somnul pleca. Cand ochii se deschisera din nou, vazura doar intuneric. Apoi ceva ii purta incet spre o bucatarie unde incepu sa straluceasca un bec orb. Si o mana familiara incepu sa scrie pe un caiet ce parea a fi un jurnal...

ENGLISH VERSION

Qua was lost in thoughts, mad at himself and on the postalcoholic depression he had. Lieing on the huge bed, he was listening to the buzzing of the cars passing on the street, the joyful song of the birds stepingon the edge of his window, and, deep within himself, the infernal noise of his thoughts coliding. He was waiting for the purifing sleep, in this foreign, yet so familiar bed. But the sleep was late, flying in large circles above him, too far away. Qua was killing his thoughts, one by one, their noise dying slowly and bringing the sleep closer. And, later, the sleep came, even if one thought was still struglling in his mind... her. But it was a pleasent thought now, nomatter how bitter it might have been at times. And yet the eyes began to close. And his smile began to grow, slowly, but sure. Right then, before sleep could penetrate his entire being, he felt. He felt a hand tenderly walking it's fingers thru his silver-white hair, and two sweet lips touching his cheek and giving him a dose of the drug he needed the most, love. The eternal human fear of the unknown whispered him to wake up. But it was too late. The bed clothes tightened almost painful around him. The hand continued to caress his hair, and the two sweet and foreign lips now felt over his own. The eyes opened, far later, slowly. To slow to see the being to which they wished to thank. All they could surprise was the bed clothes falling back to their numbness. The sleep felt again, heavier and deeper then before. The dreams it brang were pointless, for only the thought of those that happen was coming back, again and again, in his sleepy, druged mind. Hours passed, and the sleep went away. When the eyes opened again, they could only see darkness. Then, something slowly carried them to a kitchen where a blind lightbulb began to shine. And a familiar hand began to write on a textbook that looked like a diary...