Now I don't believe you... You were all I had... You were the best I had. And now... I don't believe you!!!

Jane, I've already written you the message... You are right. Your story is wonderful... I will never write like you. I will never tell the bitter truth. And you can. And now I will live as HE lived... Bronze Light Pours Tears... The message on the mirror, left with the black pencil... And me, lying in the corner with syringe. It is beautiful, don't you think??? And he... Sitting in the next door room, thinking only about his problems, only about himself... You will come in and see everything.Then you will call to ER, but... They will be LATE... I will compute the fix and, I promisse, it will be the fatal draught.

Or another picture...

The misty meadow. Me, roaming on it, searching for him, because he is my draught... But it is too difficult, because I can't see even my stretched hand... Someone is holding me and then casting to the wet grass. Then I had a paroxysm of rending pain... But I feel, that he is somewhere here...

Is it all??? No, I have another one, but not the last.

You come to the flat and you know, that in the room there is a corpse. You look into and see me, setting my elbows against the wall. But my eyes are fullfilled with blak colour. I am muttering something... And you understand that these words are: "Bronze Light Pours Tears... Bronze Light Pours Tears..."  You are running out, wishing to find something to help me, but, turning round, you see me again - emaciated, with blak eyes-abyss, looking at you... Bronze Light Pours Tears... Insanity...

And the last one...

Cemetery. The grave. He is sitting with a bronze nenuphar. No, he is not crying. He is thinking, looking on the grave. You come closer and read the epitaph: "Bronze Light Pours Tears". Yes. This words are ingraved on the stone of my grave.

I wrote this message, because all these situations I saw today - in my slumber. When I read your story, I understood everything. I understood, that my thoughts and fears were predicted and that my death will come. Soon... You see, I can't write as you do... Sorry for a little retelling. It was not made on perpuse... It only happened so. But there is no escape, my drawning sun...