Just finished a spinal cord cross-section. Again.

The surgeon wanted it more red—'like the real thing,' they said. I adjusted the hue, but it still feels like I’m painting blood on a map of silence. Took me three hours to get the dorsal root ganglia right. Old shoes on the floor, coffee cold, and the sky outside is that bruised purple before thunder. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just drawing ghosts for people who don’t know what they’re missing.