Imi puteti traduce acest text in romana???

And that’s when I wake up. Or when I snap out of the daydream. Sometimes it’s tough to tell whether I’m asleep or awake; every moment tends to take on a drowsy sameness when you’ve been kept in isolation for weeks. At least, I think it’s been weeks. Hard to keep track of time since there are no windows in my cell. The only thing I’m really certain of is that my imaginings of escape aren’t real. Sometimes it’s like tonight and Six has come to rescue me, other times it’s John, and other times I’ve developed Legacies of my own and I fly out of my cell, pummeling Mogadorians as I go.
It’s all fantasy. Just a way for my anxious mind to pass the time.
The sweat-soaked mattress with broken springs that dig into my back? That’s real. The cramps in my legs and my backache? Those are real, too.