This drawing burst forth in an invigorating explosion of inspiration and light, unexpectedly imbuing my downtrodden spirit with buoyancy.

I was a little heartbroken at the time and bathing in the bluer hues of the heart’s palette, so when a sparkly glimmer of hope randomly appeared like a bolt of lightning one morning, it really surprised me.

In an epiphany I realised I actually had a choice: I could continue to wallow in self-pity – that dubious balm of the downhearted – or I could grab this glimmer of hope and breathe life into it. I made the novel choice to do the latter, and was amazed by how quickly it helped me rise up out of the quagmire. I was blue, but buoyant.

I suddenly realised then that whilst we cannot control when grief and sorrow will descend upon us, we might have some small say in the intensity and length of time they linger. Turns out that, like most states of consciousness, even the state of achy-breaky heartache is somewhat malleable.