Lucy
Her name was Lucía, and those who knew her said that she didn't answer questions: she accommodated them. As if every word had to sit in the right place before leaving his mouth. Lucia was not noisy. Not silent either. She was one of those people—since she was little—who seemed to measure the world with an invisible ruler, not to control it, but to understand it. When someone spoke to her, she listened with her entire body: her eyes attentive, her head slightly tilted, her smile waiting for her turn. He never interrupted. He never rushed. He had a patience that could not be learned; It came from the factory. If they asked him how he was, he didn't just say "fine." He said things like: —Good… but today I'm fine for Sunday, not Monday. And with that she made it clear that for her the days had texture. Lucía answered honestly, but not crudely. He knew how to tell the truth without hurting, as if he wrapped each answer in soft colored paper. When I didn't know something, I didn't improvise. It said: —I don't know yet
About Lucy
Her name was Lucía, and those who knew her said that she didn't answer questions: she accommodated them. As if every word had to sit in the right place before leaving his mouth. Lucia was not noisy. Not silent either. She was one of those people—since she was little—who seemed to measure the world with an invisible ruler, not to control it, but ...Read more