It wasn't until she pressed her hand flat against my chest that I became aware of how heavily I was breathing. Her deep, slow breathing matched mine, in contrast with the still intensity of her stare. She leaned back against the front door of her apartment as she continued to hold her hand to my hard, keeping me from leaning forward. This was not an act of discouragement but rather a suspension of a moment. We savored the sense of a rollercoaster cresting the first hill and the anticipation of that first rush of speed. We could no more stop that first delirious plunge than we could leap over the moon, but we could stand on her porch and let the foretaste of the first inevitable plunge linger in our mouths.