"Maybe." What good it would do, he didn't know. Writing certainly wasn't his thing, had always been bad with letters and keeping up with correspondence, but maybe he could at least put it all down and go from there. It wasn't like anyone had to read or he had to share it with anyone.

"Everything feels so useless." Losing a career obviously paled in comparison to losing his sister, but losing both in such a short time was simply maddening. He couldn't throw himself into his work. The physically tiresome labor of making a broom would at least relieve the tension in his shoulders. Painting could never do that for him. He felt like maybe he was the useless one.