A/N: See below

When you think you've had enough of real life per day, something always happens that takes you out of your mistake. In my case, I cannot say that it I'm too original. Work, haste, an asshole of a boss and an ex who wants to come home to loot the cabinets. I am very classical in that sense. Despite being used to these cycles of apparent happiness-impending disaster-trigger-emptiness-back to start, I do not get to pick up the rhythm at all. Of this thing that is life, I mean. I refuse to believe that this succession of stress, calm, relax, almost happiness and new stress will only end with the extreme unction of a priest and some dried flowers on a tombstone.

There is only one thing, only one, that manages to give me hope regarding a possible alternative. I do not know anyone who does the same, so I guess at this I am original. When life really overwhelms me, when I feel that the next step is to take a gun and rob a bank just for the pleasure of unloading adrenaline; I climb to the roof of my building and sit on the edge of the wall.

No, is not about that. Suicide is an act that requires courage, and I was always very coward. I just sit down, with the asphalt fifty meters above my feet, hanging out over it, and I look at the city. I like to do it at any time, but especially at night. When the sun goes down it is the moment when the darkness reigns, and the human arrogance, ridiculous, tries to face it with small little lights of color, blinking. I have never been in the outer space, and at the rate I am going, I suppose I will not be in this reincarnation; but I imagine that from up there, all that my eyes contemplate now must look like a gigantic Christmas tree, dedicated to some higher Being with as much color and movement as a child pretends to decorate a paper flower: to give it to their mother with a shy smile, from the ground, and expecting to receive a praise and a cookie in return.

My meditations do not focus on a specific point, but every time I get up here (number that increases at supersonic speed, lately) it seems that my thoughts turn on themselves until they find a point to rest for a while. Starting with the Higgins boson, the unemployment problem, the grocery shopping list... and ending with empty cabinets four floors below, a broken vase and a door slamming. Mysteriously, it is not relief what arrives with the echo of the door, the one that we all hope to see arriving when we remove a thorn from the flesh. There is more emptiness than will to occupy it, and that is a problem.

A wave of optimism invades me when a fleeting idea crosses my brain from north to south: it is better to have the problem of emptiness than the one of being too full. And yes, I'll have to agree with myself. But of course, when you get up in the morning and know that you are alone, that yesterday you were and probably tomorrow you will be too ... Rationality is not a quality that helps to assimilate. I look down for a moment, and see how little ants come and go without rest. I keep looking and follow around lights that stop in front of other lights, and if I try hard enough, I can distinguish the black horizon line, beyond the buildings and lights I have closer.

Who knows where they will be? With so many places to hide, and above, with the ability to move. It is practically impossible to find "that" person. And for that spark to come up ... Now that I think about it, I have not reviewed the lottery. Being a millionaire right now, maybe, and here I am, with my feet hanging from a roof. It is such an extremely stupid thought, even for me, that I cannot help but burst out laughing. Act that in turn forces me to hold on more firmly to the edge of the wall, lest an impulse as healthy as laughter be the last impulse I'll have. As I think about how ironic it would be to die laughing, a hand grasps my forearm tightly, and pulls me enough to make the fall a discarded option.

Disconcerted by the gesture, I look at the owner of that saving hand, and I find two lights that I had not had the pleasure of seeing before. Two brown mocha eyes, very dark, almost coffee black; they watch me with some concern. The one that is given to a stranger on the bus when they fall by a sudden move, more or less. Under the cloak of civility and solidarity, however, I appreciate a veil of repressed and justified tears, which have been enclosed under a wall of protection for a weak heart, probably as destroyed as the one that belongs to the person who observes them right now. A petite, dark girl hugs herself inside her coat when she realizes that I am safe, and what in Hollywood they call "uncomfortable silence" occurs.

Now it's time for her to sit here, for me to tell her about my no-suicide attempt, for her to explain why she does not cry, exchange phone numbers, blah blah blah.

"Do you know what I would do if I could kiss you here right now, with this view?" Those are the words that come out of my mouth, that take me out of my trance, making me wonder who said that, and to whom it goes. The unconscious plays very bad tricks, and as in everything, I am not original in this aspect either.

"What?" She cannot be less, since it is the alluded one, with what her magnificent eyes are opened up exceedingly, trying to look for an explanation to such a question, when no longer an adequate answer. When surprised, her eyes better capture the little light that is around, the image of a thick, rich chocolate river shining under a radiant sun, comes to me. I do not know if it is her face, mildly fright and curiosity, but the unconscious part of my brain compels me to repeat the question.

"What if you know what I would do if I could give you a kiss here, with this view".

Bitten by the curiosity that makes a dent in the wall that contains her tears, she ventures to sit next to me and looks at me. I think I see a hint of a smile on her lips, but not being able to look away from her eyes, I can't assure it.

"What?"

"I would give you two."

This time, yes, a smile appears timid on her lips, and I smile too. Because being original is a plus, but to be original you also have to be brave. For some, it will be too high of a price, but ... To get something you've never had, you'll have to do something you've never done.

A/N: So! This is my first attempt to write in English, and since is not my first language, I beg you to be kind with me =D

All mistakes are mine, and the characters belong to Fox, Ryan Murphy and all that jazz. I just took them for a while, and no one was harmed on the writing of this story.