Little Life
That’s how strange life is.
It begins from nothing, out of love—
from something we can’t see or touch,
yet somehow we feel it.
We feel what it is to be alive,
what it means to be human.
We breathe, we walk, we act.
And then, all at once, it can be over.
Isn’t that strange? Isn’t it strange—
to end on an ordinary day,
with so much still left undone?
So until then, don’t worry.
Just live a little.










