The wind brushed past her crown of roses, sending Cupids scent across solitary rivers and into noses of ripe lovers. Eager fingers would envelop around coloured faces and their breath reeked of anticipated love. In the thick air, passion grew like a storm, until each throat was clogged with a beating heart and lips murmured of eternal sweetness.
Those pouty girls, with their pale chest exposed from within their sheer blouse, bit their lips red in hopes of stealing an eye, begging not to be forgotten. And the boys, counting the freckles they haven't yet kissed, left their masks on, bashful and frightened they kept an unfriendly distance.