Suddenly life seems so fragile, ephemeral. It can end prematurely, accidentally, unexpectedly by a smallest RNA with a protein coat gaudy with red dots sticking out. I've never thought about death before, something too far away to be of significance. Now I think about it, I feel fine. I can accept death better than declining health and sickness--Oh, the sickness due to coronavirus. When will this go away? But something is harder to accept. Our unfinished love. There's no closure, no ending. Something once promising, but no conclusion. I regret about it, deeply. If life is not so transitory, I won't feel so regretful. Death creates a new logic for life. Even the thought of death, crazy as it seems, redefines our love.