I believe that everyone deserves flowers on their grave. When I go to the cemetery to visit my brother,it makes me sad to see graves—just the cold stones—and no flowers on them. They look lonely,like nobody loves them. I believe this is the worst thing in the world—that loneliness. No one to visit you and brush off the dust from your name and cover you with color. A grave without any flowers looks like the person has been forgotten. And then what was the point of even living—to be forgotten? Almost every day my brother's grave has something new on it: Flowers from me,or candles from the Dollar Store or an image of the Virgin Maria or shot glasses. There's even some little Homies,these little toys that look like gangsters. Once my brother's homies even put a bunch of marijuana on there for him—I think my mother took it away. I think she also took away the blue rag someone put there for him one day.