Seconds Pass.

Words are spoken, but she hardly hears them. She is in shock. How did this dream ever come true for her? Her hand reaches out to him; fingers gently—hesitantly—press up against soft, supple, skin. Somewhere in the back of her head, a voice attempts to weave doubt into her heart, but she promptly ignores it. She had been waiting, what seemed to be, forever for this moment, and she would be damned before anything ruined it.

She says something without thinking. It is as if her mind has been placed on auto-pilot. He smiles, and she swears that everything else disappears. That smile. That beautiful, warm, smile that, admittedly, she had seen many times before through pictures just made her long, tiring, trip worth it. She silently tells herself that she needs nothing more. If, for some crazy reason, she had to return home, she could do so with a happy heart.

He leans forward, and her head roars to life, working at double-time. Images are fed into the projector that is her mind’s eye and she replays the past few weeks over and over again. His lips brush against hers—for the first time.

The reel jams.
The movie fades and her mind powers down a second time.

She returns the gesture as she slides her hand down his cheek. Her fingers waltz down the side of his neck, taking their sweet, slow, time. The kiss deepens. Her palm lands on top of his heart; she immediately notices that the rapid, frantic, beat matches her own.

She doesn’t want this moment to end.

Seconds Pass.

Minutes too.