People I've Met (1)

Amber I met in Portland. She was Madonna. Our first time to hang out we walked for miles through the streets of the SouthEast district. She told me she really wanted kids and she tried to adopt when she was 18. She never finished high school. It wasn't for her. She never enjoyed it. She comes and goes to places but never stays too long a time. She had a smile to warm God to tears. It was pure. It was beautiful. It was holy. She was quiet, shy, intelligent. We cooked together. We made some sort of spaghetti then watched a movie. I don't remember what. I wanted to hold her but didn't want to at the same time. And I didn't. Neither of us "made a move." We were content in the company of something special. Holy. She is holy. She was small. Her hair was long, past her shoulders, and dark. She was Mexican. She had no accent. She had thin yet full lips that spread to dimples when she smiled. Her eyes were always honest and pure in light brown holiness. One day, while walking down Hawthorne, we stopped in Pastaworks, the Italian market, and bought cheese and bread and sat against the side wall of the supermarket up the road. We ate as if in holy communion. It was. We smiled holy. We laughed holy. We shared holy. We sat in holy silence. She was beautiful in looks, life, and spirit. I left her without saying goodbye. I believe she understands because every word we shared was honest.