- plt

A girl sits behind the sycamore tree,
Making sketches,
Her hair is messy,
Just like her art.
Head bowed down,
Trying to camouflage among the meadow, cloaking from anyone who might recognize her,
While another boy sits on the other part of that lakeside,
His head high, as everyone pays attention to what he was saying,

You see, this is not a romantic story. Not even a bit.

They knew each other
They just act like they don't