I see you from time to time at work. I am pretty old and you are young. You are one of those girls who has small, delicate, completely regular features and pale skin, so a statuette of you made of porcelain would look terrific on some connoisseur’s mantle.
And you are also a person who has practiced an art you recently had to give up for reasons I don’t know. Now you are 22 years old and an everyday cubicle dweller. I saw you looking sad for a long time, but now you look happier.
I am glad you are happier and are studying to be another kind of professional, so you can escape Cubicle Hell. And I thank you for being a spot of beauty in a huge workplace that seems otherwise to be devoid of beauty and full of sadness. It makes my day every time I see you.