Yonggi and I walk hand in hand. Even though he's old enough to walk beside me without holding my hand, he grips it with the same insecurity and love as 3 years ago. I love the smooth feeling of his tiny palms in my own. I cannot imagine what it would feel like to lose these small helping hands.

“Yunmi omma,” he looks at me with doe-like eyes. “May I play at the swings?”

I smile a genuine grin. “Of course, my love. Go ahead.”

He jumps with excitement and runs to the empty swing set. I watch from afar with my hands in my pockets, hiding them from the light breeze. I wave to him and point at the lake, where I would always be. He grins and nods his tiny head as the wind swirls little strands of his dark brown hair in the wind. It's funny how this child becomes fascinated with everything. Sometimes I wish I had half of the enthusiasm and curiosity he contains. I guess that's what makes him exactly like his father. He used to constantly call himself a composer and a poet, who wrote about his inquistiveness and fascination of the world. “Curiosity, imagination, and you, my greatest inspiration, fuels my creativity,” he used to tell me persistently.

My heart becomes heavy. I miss him. I turn away as more kids ran into the playground. I stroll silently along the lake, which was surrounded by a durable rail line fence. The spring wind whistles around me. The park rangers planted enormous cherry blossoms near the lake. The pinkish petals resembled huge fluffs of cotton candy being teared from it's bundle by the breeze. My eyes linger at a particular one with red linings. I walk and followed the direction of the wind as it was blown towards something, leading me to something or some where I could forget him.

It lands on a head of a brunette. His slender fingers pinch the soft petal delicately as he pulls it to view. I stare at him and soon enough, he turned and stares at me. His intense gaze are lock with mine. It was though as if that moment, something new sizzled and sparked in between us.