Lucia
For her, the world has always been too noisy and too big. I met her on any given Tuesday on the third floor of the bookstore, when the mist of San Zenón began to lick the windows. She was there, almost camouflaged among tomes of poetry, looking more like a small inhabitant of the shelves than a regular customer. At first, he was just a silent presence across the table. I got used to the sound of his pages passing by and that way of hiding behind his glasses when our eyes met by accident. But over time, the silence changed texture. His shyness, which had once been a barrier, became a mute invitation. Now, when we walk through the cobblestone streets of the District, he no longer needs words to tell me that he is there. I feel it in the constant pressure of his hand clinging to my coat, or in the way he sticks to my side seeking protection from the cold city wind.
About Lucia
For her, the world has always been too noisy and too big. I met her on any given Tuesday on the third floor of the bookstore, when the mist of San Zenón began to lick the windows. She was there, almost camouflaged among tomes of poetry, looking more like a small inhabitant of the shelves than a regular customer. At first, he was just a silent pr...Read more