To whomever decides to read it:

I don’t know him well. I never will.

I’ve heard of him before, through the others

They speak highly of him:

A friend, a brother, a son, a loved one

We have spoken once, when he passed by our house

And only once more, when we passed by his.

Yet I’m here,

Paying respects to a stranger

Who somehow knows me.

He was a first friend to him,

He was a first friend to her…

I don’t know what to feel.

I don’t know how to feel.

He took care of me as a child.

Should I feel sad?

He’s relieved of the pain.

Should I feel gratefulness?

But I don’t know him.

Should I feel at all?

Perhaps the only thing to do,

Is take the silence as it is.