Met you in the chaos, boots heavy in the dust,
Young soldiers with scars, learning who to trust,
Long nights in the barracks, pain hidden in jokes,
Smoke floating in silence while the whole world broke.
You were more than a brother, more than blood could explain,
Taught me how to stand tall when I was drowning in pain,
Said, “Keep your head up, even war can’t steal your soul,”
You were patching broken hearts while carrying your own.
December twenty-ninth, nineteen ninety-five,
A soul built for battle, but somehow still kind,
You gave strength to the weak when your own light was dim,
Now I still hear your voice every time life gets grim.
And the flags still wave…
But some heroes never make it home the same…
Now every thunder in the sky says your name…
Hector, you still march with me,
Through every dark road and memory,
Every salute, every tear I hide,
You’re the voice in my mind saying, “Don’t you die.”
August twelfth took you away,
But legends don’t fade, they echo through pain,
Close friend turned mentor, now heaven’s guard,
And I swear on my soul… you left your mark.
We were kids with anger trying not to fall apart,
Turning trauma into armor, hiding wounds in our hearts,
You taught me being strong didn’t mean feeling numb,
Sometimes real soldiers cry when the war finally comes.
I remember those rides with the music too loud,
Laughing like the world couldn’t drag us down,
You’d tell me, “One day they’ll know who you are,”
Now I’m carrying your name like a medal through the dark.
Still catch myself reaching for the phone sometimes,
Like you’ll answer with that laugh saying, “Bro, you alright?”
But grief hits different when the good ones go,
Leaves a permanent ache only brothers know.
Not all angels got wings…
Some wear combat boots and faded green,
Some carry broken men when they can’t stand tall,
Some save lives while silently losing it all.
And if heaven’s got a front line,
I know you’re standing guard tonight…
Hector, you still march with me,
Every mile, every memory,
When the nights get cold and the weight gets hard,
I still feel your hand saying, “Fight through the dark.”
Born December twenty-ninth, nineteen ninety-five,
A warrior’s soul that’ll never truly die,
August twelfth may have closed your eyes,
But real brothers never say goodbye.
Yeah…
We served together…
We struggled together…
And even now…
I still carry you with me.
Rest easy, Hector.
LDRides
