April, her favorite month. The breeze by the lake is gentle, warm and soft, like a child's hand, brushing the brow, brushing the face, and the smile that stops at the corner of the mouth. I just want to indulge in this situation, not caring about worldly affairs, and not fighting with others. It's just that this time was too short. When did she start to have to let her heart be stained with the dust of the world for the benefit of her family, and when did she start to realize that she had truly lost someone. There are all kinds of things in this world, but I live so involuntarily.
He held her hand and rubbed it from the back to the fingertips with his thumb. Her hand was no longer as delicate and soft as it was three years ago, but the warmth when the fingertips touched made him understand that she was still her, the same one who played barefoot in the stream, the one who galloped on the grassland on horseback, the one who had vowed to "hold my son's hand and grow old together with him."