A scene of innocent perfection, easily made by two young lovers. People passed unnoticed, and without a glance in the couple's direction. Only seventeen, but holding onto a secret. She looked at their intertwined fingers and then raised her head again, smiling, embarrassed. He looked into her eyes and returned their warmth with a grin of his own. It was simple, empowering. If a passerby was to stop in his tracks, he might feel a tingle of energy, unknown to anyone else but the two lovebirds. But he would be forced to keep moving. She pushed her hair behind one ear with her free hand, and moved closer to him. He welcomed her into his strong arms. Both hearts were beating rapidly. Both were aware of the sound, the rhythm. Both were happy for the experience. They were only seventeen, but holding onto a secret. He breathed slowly by her ear. She blushed with silent happiness. No sound but their constant pulsing hearts. She smoothed out her skirt, he played with his keys. They didn't need to speak. It was understood. Their passion didn't require any words. They were a painting amidst the waves of people. Blurs of motion surrounding a pinprick of light. No one noticed it at all. No one cared to notice. No one had that love, but the two young lovers. Only seventeen, but holding onto a secret. Their lips touched softly on occasion, when the energy had risen. Nothing forced, nothing faked. He made no sudden moves, no pressures or threats. She was glad. Friends passed, and family traveled by as well. Some stopped momentarily, their mouths open, but no sound was heard. Their retaliation was lost in the everyday moment. There was no need for the couple to listen. They knew already, and their thumping chests proved that. Passion was found, but calmly within their minds. They were only seventeen, but they were holding onto a secret. They were holding on for each other. They would wait.