reality & quilts

I have a pile of my brothers clothes in the corner of my room. Everyday I see them over there - stacked up cluttering my room. T-shirts, polos, goalie shirts.....all just sitting there.

I have a stack of my brother's clothes in the corner because I am supposed to be making a quilt out of them. I am supposed to be cutting them up into nice neat squares so that they can be sewn together into a quilt that will last "forever" or at least years to come. Because, you know - my brother didn't. He didn't last and now I have a stack of his clothes that I look at everyday sitting in my room. And I am supposed to cut them up - I am supposed to all but destroy the little I have left - physically- of my little brother, to make a quilt?

I have my dead brothers clothes sitting in my room to make a fucking quilt with...... FUCK.