Can I tell you what going through my dead brother's papers is like?
Here is what going through my dead brother's papers is like:
A spiral-bound notebook, with pages upon pages of handwritten
lists from this PlayStation game, then that one,
magical equipment, power-ups, creatures, treasures, statistics.

And then, unexpectedly, the transcribed lyrics of two verses
from The Phantom of the Opera, one of his favorites.
Those who have seen your face, draw back in fear.
I am the mask you wear; it's me they hear.

Or again, a pile of notes for a fantasy role-playing adventure,
again handwritten, on half-page scrap paper. Wandering
monsters: twelve bugbears, armor class 7, 4 hit dice each.
Here is where the lizard men abducted the mayor's daughter,

and where the dragon's tracks lead, after it preyed upon
the abductors. Here is what the hoard is worth, enumerated
in detail, the ivory and silver cornucopia pin (2,500 gold pieces)
and the obsidian panther (5,000) which comes to life if given
the correct word of power. And suddenly, amidst them, a

forgotten list, entitled "What I Want for Myself." At the top
of the list, a girlfriend. Next on the list: world peace. It goes on
from there. "More time with family." "Self-respect."
"A decent, enjoyable job" has the word "enjoyable"

struck out, as an afterthought. Every glimpse
beyond the mask, a blow to the heart.
But he needs this refuge no longer, so it goes
slowly, page by page, into the bin, to overflowing.