Two Sentences, One Life

They look like twins.

The same words,
the same breath,
the same mouth opening and closing.

Only the order changes.

One asks for faith.

Love your life and live it.

As if affection can be chosen
before evidence arrives.
As if every morning deserves a yes
without presenting its case.

The other is older.

Live your life and love it.

It doesn't ask for optimism.

It asks for endurance.

Walk first.

Collect enough days you almost forgot,
enough wrong turns that accidentally become home,
enough people who leave
and enough who stay.

Carry the scars
until they stop introducing themselves.

Then one afternoon,
while washing a cup
or waiting for the light to turn green,
you'll catch yourself smiling
for no audience at all.

You'll realize
you never learned to love your life.

You simply kept living it

long enough

that it stopped feeling like
something you had to survive

and quietly became

someone you knew.

Maybe that's all love has ever been.

Not a decision.

Not a reward.

Just familiarity
that refused to leave.

So I no longer argue
about which sentence is wiser.

Some hearts
must love first
to find the courage to live.

Others

must live first

before they finally understand
what they've been loving
all along.