Too Much Too Soon

The air crackles with static and words that were too much, too soon.


In the winter night, she slips out with shoes but no socks, a black knit jacket but nothing underneath except a red bra and thin sweatpants that do nothing except to cover up her skin. Worn only so there is something to take off as she gets into the car.

The car waiting at the end of the road, headlights on, the only car on the street where everyone is asleep and she is rebelling meekly without meaning to.


The heat of their bodies, the silence of the parking lot, the starkness of the flourescent lights. Soft breathing, hard breathing, gasping of names whispered into ears. Mouths searching for each other, legs clutching on to the other tightly, afraid to let go. It went fast sometimes and sometimes slow.

Sometimes she opened her eyes and stared into his, forcing her existence upon him, other times she shut them and disappeared into the melting waves of pleasure, free from everyone but herself.


When it was over, she realized it was really over. This is the end, she says. The finality of her words cling to the air, silently accepted.


"It was fun. But I can't do it anymore. Not with you."


"It feels too much like love."


Gets out of the car, walks back up the driveway, into the quiet house where everyone is sleeping and crawls into bed.

Good bye.