steady and smooth. long fingers; wide palms. calloused (or not). the etchings created by time and circumstances. scars. pockmarks. lines tell more of a story than we sometimes can with our mouths. or with a pen. but, the thing controlling the pen is in fact, a hand. we will write millions of words. our hands will tell thousands of stories. our languages have created writing out of necessity. we write down things to communicate and share our feelings. i have a white scar, deep in the palm of my left hand. and my right hand could tell you all about the day that the left received the cut that scarred it. but my left cannot. it is, in an essence, mute. the right hand is the smart one. the brave one. wiser. but it will never be able to write from the point of view of the left hand. because the left is not one for words. never has been. never will be. it will just always be a dreamer. with good intentions,
just bad luck.