Yesterday I learned to never overlook the gifts we are given by believing, that time is a commodity in our lives that stretches in front of us past the horizon. Renu arrived into my life on these small streets, passionate, beautiful, grateful. She is leaving, moving to the other side of the country, a distance that seems for me un-bridgeable. Her disappearance will resonate through out my day, a reminder that we have a finite number of days to share with the people we love. I was neither generous nor grateful enough. Her arrival at my door was the gift I was given one summer day, her accent a beautiful exotic music that filled my room and I miss her before she is even gone. She cooked for me last night, food too beautiful to eat, explaining how in India, "a guest is god", and no matter how rich or poor the breaking of bread is a ritual of karma. We sat smoking cigarettes and drinking wine, the scent of the sea carried through the breeze, making promises imposed by distance. Her daughter Guari is beautiful and alive in the ways only a thirteen year old can be all energy and Coca Cola. We felt rocks together our hands slippery with soap, neither of us will ever forget this tiny night. I love them both as deeply as family and will regret any days when they do not slip with their gentleness into my memories. I will keep their names, as smooth and permanent as pebbles, on my tongue.