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Ella se llamaba Lucรญa. รl, Mateo.
Se conocieron una tarde de octubre, cuando el sol se despedรญa temprano y el viento comenzaba a traer promesas de invierno. Lucรญa era de esas personas que caminan rรกpido, como si siempre supieran a dรณnde van. Mateo, en cambio, vivรญa con la cabeza en las nubes, enamorado de las ideas mรกs que de las certezas.
Se encontraron en una librerรญa. Literalmente. Chocaron en el pasillo de poesรญa. Lucรญa derramรณ sus libros, Mateo los recogiรณ. Se rieron. Hablaron. Se fueron a tomar cafรฉ. Y no dejaron de verse en semanas.
Lucรญa amaba la mรบsica triste. Mateo le escribรญa canciones alegres para equilibrarla. รl creรญa que el amor podรญa salvar el mundo. Ella pensaba que el amor no siempre era suficiente, pero igual querรญa intentarlo.
Pasaron un aรฑo entero juntos. Viajes en tren. Lluvias inesperadas. Primeras peleas. Primeras reconciliaciones. Una vez se perdieron en una ciudad extraรฑa y durmieron abrazados en una estaciรณn de autobรบs. โEsto es amor realโ, dijo Mateo. Y Lucรญa, por primera vez, lo creyรณ.
Pero la vidaโฆ la vida es de relojes distintos.
Lucรญa recibiรณ una beca para irse a vivir a otro paรญs. Era su sueรฑo desde antes de conocer a Mateo. Y รฉl... รฉl acababa de comenzar a cuidar a su madre enferma. No podรญa irse. No podรญa pedirle que se quedara.
Se prometieron que se volverรญan a encontrar. Que esto no era un adiรณs, solo un hasta luego.
Pasaron los aรฑos. Hubo mensajes. Luego cartas mรกs espaciadas. Despuรฉs, silencios. No porque se hubieran dejado de amar. A veces el amor no muere, solo se acomoda en otra parte del corazรณn.
Una tarde, muchos aรฑos despuรฉs, Lucรญa recibiรณ una canciรณn en su correo. La firmaba โMโ. Era de Mateo. Era una canciรณn que hablaba de ella, del tren, de la estaciรณn, de los inviernos.
Lucรญa sonriรณ. Llorรณ un poco. Y entendiรณ que a veces, los amores verdaderos no duran para siempre, pero duran para toda la vida.
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Her name was Lucรญa. His, Mateo.
They met one October afternoon, when the sun said goodbye early and the wind began to carry promises of winter. Lucรญa was the kind of person who walks fast, as if she always knew where she was going. Mateo, on the other hand, lived with his head in the clouds, in love with ideas more than certainties.
They met in a bookstore. Literally. They bumped into each other in the poetry aisle. Lucรญa dropped her books, Mateo picked them up. They laughed. They talked. They went out for coffee. And they didnโt stop seeing each other for weeks.
Lucรญa loved sad music. Mateo wrote her cheerful songs to balance her out. He believed love could save the world. She thought love wasnโt always enoughโbut still, she wanted to try.
They spent a whole year together. Train trips. Unexpected rains. First fights. First reconciliations. One time they got lost in a strange city and slept curled up in a bus station.
โThis is real love,โ Mateo said. And for the first time, Lucรญa believed it.
But lifeโฆ life runs on different clocks.
Lucรญa received a scholarship to move to another country. It had been her dream long before she met Mateo. And he... he had just started taking care of his sick mother. He couldnโt leave. He couldnโt ask her to stay.
They promised they would see each other again. That this wasnโt goodbyeโjust see you later.
Years passed. There were messages. Then more occasional letters. Then, silence. Not because they had stopped loving each other. Sometimes love doesnโt dieโit just settles in another part of the heart.
One afternoon, many years later, Lucรญa received a song in her email. It was signed โM.โ It was from Mateo. A song that spoke of her, of the train, of the station, of the winters.
Lucรญa smiled. Cried a little. And understood that sometimes, true loves donโt last foreverโbut they last a lifetime.
Gracias por acompaรฑarme en mi mensaje diario de 5 minutos.Espero le gustara mi breve relato.
โImagen Creada por- Google a peticion del Autor.
โContenido Original.
Traduccion con la ayuda de Google.
Thank you for joining me in my daily
message in 5 minutes. I hope you liked
my short story.
โImage created by Google at the request of the author.
โOriginal content.
Translation with the help of Google.