You see a short article in the paper and then echoed online, a motorcycle fatality, an unnamed rider who made a split second error. You shrug it off, because you can't let those things stick in your head, lest it affect the way you ride.
You see threads in online forums where that accident is being discussed and dissected. People musing over what he did wrong. People blaming the driver of the car he hit, because surely it wasn't the rider's fault. People wondering if he had time to know what had happened, or did he die before his eyes could close.
You mostly forget about it, until someone on another forum mentions he was a member of that forum; while he didn't post often, he was still more than just a statistic that cracked up on the Interstate.
You then learn his name.
You then realize not only did you post to the same forum, but that you knew him. You remember him from your late teens, the kid who was a year older and into theater.
You were never a part of the same crowd and you probably only spoke to him a few times, just enough to be aware of his existence. You haven't even thought of him in over 25 years, his name not even a blip on your radar.
You feel it anyway. Just a little bit, you mourn. Because even though you haven't thought of him in over 2 dozen years, even though he made a critical and possibly stupid mistake, he deserves that. You don't have a particular reason, but you feel bad.
You just do.