I tell her that the little things that break her down, day after day, don’t matter, because she draws like an absolute bastard and because she is in love with this thing that we do. Because it keeps her alive. Because she is the truest version of herself when she does it. The work will always be with you, will come back to you if it leaves, and you will return to it to find that you have, in fact, gotten better, gotten sharper. It happens to you while you are asleep inside. The world in which we work is a place where no one is a ghost, a world in which the potential for anything walks and
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