whispered secrets

It had been months since I'd seen her, and I knew this would be our only half hour together for months more. I didn't know what I'd say. Thirty minutes. The length of a mindless television sitcom, if you included the commercials. Not enough for anything substantial.

She was there when I arrived, seated at a table for two. She smiled at me. I waved and sat down, and we talked.

We had thirty minutes. I felt like I should try to inject that time with meaning, with significance--we should get the most out of this little sliver of time. Instead we talked about the weather and the bands we just got into and the movies we were looking forward to. No deep infusions of meaning. No whispered secrets. And I regret only that I spent so much time planning for anything else.