If all I get is one afternoon with you in a public place... cold bathroom tile followed by coffee and a chat about music...
I'll take it -- knowing that you're at home, with your boyfriend, as I write this.
I'll take it -- as I look at the naked picture you sent to me years ago (when you were single) and wonder why we never got together.
I'll take it -- even though in a few days (or hours), the thought of our encounter will probably send me into a tailspin of loneliness.
Which came first: the lowered expectations, or the tendency to process tiny scraps of intimacy as bliss?