Your shoes were tied
And I realized someone's fingers danced with the laces before you found your body under a sheet.
You have a name
And a family and people who love and care about you and who's lives are now shattered.
Yesterday you lived
And breathed and laughed and made all these memories and plans as though you'd have a day after tomorrow.

But you don't.
Tomorrow didn't come for you.
You're forever stuck in the realms of yesterday
Never more than you were the moment before you breathed your last.

Did you hold it?
That last breath that filled your lungs.
Did you keep it trapped in your lungs, frantically searching your brain for ways to survive them?
Or was it the last of many short comrades, minds racing through faces of those you love and words that will always be left unsaid?

I don't know you.
I don't know your name.
But I know you had one, and that's enough to impress upon me an inkling of what has happened here.
Of life lost.

I grieve for you
And the fingers that tied your shoes and touched the skin of those you love being put six feet under.

I'll never forget you.
I can't.