As a kid, I used to draw.
I'd sit down at a desk for 3 or 4 hours and not stop until I had to use the bathroom or my mom came shouting at me to go to bed; sometimes I'd even carry my work to bed, drifting off with a piece of paper under a heavy book on my lap and my hand scrunched around a pencil.
It became so integral to my system- like any skill- drawing became like a second soul.
In class, my progress was never delayed by a teachers lecture. My hand would scribble, scrawl, and slash out characters I'd seen on tv and sometimes it would surprise me with creations from my own mind. Once I started pushing out of the tube, I was delighted by new original faces seeping from my imagination.
They were like new children. They were like soul mates.
Drawing was a catharsis. When the shroud slowly started laying over my mind, my sketchpads would reflect a deep turmoil in heavily embedded lines and teeth. A sort of blood letting that rejuvenated the creative process and allowed me to proceed towards brighter thoughts and ideas. It raised heckles on the back of my neck- it raised heckles on others.
My work progressively began to be squirreled away. A late budding sexual explorer rolling curves and liquid lines with my pencils and pens that could not be easily or quickly understood was shamed. Abandoned.
Certain aspects of the art would have sketchpads frantically flapping through the air; spines broken, coils mangled, holes seared through precious clean slates.
That shroud was starting to knit with a thicker thread- my lines became thinner, pupils dilated and screams so helpless and unheard. My brain couldn't release this tragedy absorbing every aspect of me.
The pencils lean anxiously in mason jars and peer through bags for their purpose- they shall never know one again.

Glorious outpour I have noticed is still here. Thriving and leaping towards futures where models become tighter and shapes take on a more adept form. Washed colors of light characterize actual shadow, sunlight knifes through the bleak betrayal of time and patience. It has all paid off, my friends. Your talents are immeasurably stupendous. I am glad to have caught the few glimpses of this progress as it was coming along. It has all paid off, trust me.
Never relent. Please. I beg you. This will be the greatest ally of your life. It will heave you up above the scourge and boiling tar dragging all of us down. Become bold through different colors- surge with presence and precision through pen sketches- get messy. It has all paid off. It has all paid off. The pride and dismay I feel having followed and not followed closely enough is incredible as my eyes glitter with the treasures of your self worth. Keep them. Hoard the greater bounty for yourself, share with your intrinsic loves, but never relent. Never stop.