day flower ... park jongseong

i. the bud blooms¹

At the ripe age of 12 you were sent away with your mother after a preceding divorce bought with complexities and the drop of niceties. This, however, was your chance at a fresh start or whatever your mother bullshited about when you knew you'd nonetheless be a burden to her.

Maybe she was prepping you to put up with her never coming home nor checking up on you as time passed. With no real restrictions you spent your time outside after school and by the field of daffodils you found after a hike up the crest of a low hill.

A google search on the then simplistic site displayed that daffodils symbolise new beginnings, quite accurate given your situation. Much hadn't changed now as only the site was cleaned up to look mod and appealing but the information remained.

On the sole field you met a boy. Dark hair brooding his lowered eyes, and he wore nothing but a tiresome look on his face. He stepped forward and scrunched his nose in annoyance at the sight of you, an intruder to his scarce peace. "ugh, whatever, just stay on that side of the field and don't disturb me," With no one to tell you when to not bother someone, you did exactly that, eventually getting him to gleam a boyish smile at you.

Just like the search engine viewing your answer, that boy, jay, seemed to have an answer for almost everything. Smart and logical, would always rationalise with himself and was punctual with his timings at the gripping age of 13. Not once had he been late when you'd inquire to meet him the very next day, finding him at his usual spot, grimacing at the withered flowers. His punctuality and love for flowers (?) scared you, either he was messed up in the head or he'd been expected to act like an adult for the majority of his life, to live up to his parents expectations.

He wandered to these fields for his lonesome mind to sing to some melody of a song you didn't know, caressing the petals of the varied and wilting flowers. You accompanied him with a sketchbook in hand, your hands at work, your ears to his humming and occasional tunes with no comments or interruptions. You had not a thread attached with his absolute, practical life, and that's what he grew to enjoy as he sang you sweet songs and admired the minimalist beauty of flowers for hours together before he vanished back the trail he hiked up.

A decade long later, he stood the same punctual, intellectual, stellar citizen as his facial features matured and took a dark yet captivating bloom while he sobered from a teen to a young adult. Now the heir of his grandfather's company, he revelled in the success of his grandfather's business. To say he grew would be an understatement, rarely ever flashing you that lovable boyish grin, never to sing his silly little tunes in front of you again.

You weren't one to pry, years into your first ever relationship with your first love and beyond afraid to lose your loose yet stitched in place frail, threaded red heart the two of you share. The photobook stared upon you, urging you to reminisce about your uneventful past filled with mostly jay. The current times didn't get any exciting either, you painted and attended exhibitions, the usual smile carried on your peach tinted lips at the guests and those interested in buying your pieces.

Contrary to this, jay barely made it home, cooped up in his office all day everyday, allowing himself to come home merely upon completing his work. You didn't mind really, the two of you went out, spoke to each other often, and were happy. This while around, he had been distant for a week or two, his longest record of shutting you out till date. You figured he was exhausted mentally and gave him the space though you wished to circle in his arms and breath wistfully.

You veered your attention to the pages and stopped on one of jay, sat beneath the tree near your old, broken, rundown house, looking into the farther distance, admiring the view, and so were you at the time, etching each feature of his delicately put together face, ingraining it in your mind, taking out your then new but now ancient camera to capture the spectacle.

You grin at the photo stuck, your orbs drifting to the messy lyrics he'd written in english to match the mood of the moment, this particular one that of your favourite song till date, one that he used to sing you to sleep.