I wished upon a star, on a cold April night. It asked for time with your heart, under sun’s light. With dislocated chance this wish fell to the ground and its urgency required for it to be painfully found. I really shouldn’t try to Right with my write for the risk. If I used my Left I might miss, choosing words to touch your face with a soft and gentle kiss. I wrote with my Right using keys and hurt a heart I wish to please. All I have Left, is pencil with a quest to wear my heart all out there on my sleeve. Will you be left, and right, with me? —Tuesday's Leftovers