De la main gauche

I'm writing to you with my left hand
The one that’s never spoken
It hesitates, it’s so awkward
That I’ve always kept it hidden

I’d tuck it in my pocket
And there, it’d brood in the dark
It played with the notes
And made up its own stories

I'm writing to you with my left hand
The one that’s never mattered
The one that made mistakes
At least that’s what they said

I tried hard to lose it
To find the right path
A life without much mystery
Where we’d hold each other’s hands

Words in the narrow margins
All trembling, making sketches
I feel so clumsy
And yet I feel just fine

Here it is, this is my distress
Here it is, this is my truth
I’ve never had an address
Just a false identity

I'm writing to you with this dumb hand
That doesn’t have a clenched fist
It’s not ready for war
Not cut out for power

Now I’m discovering it
Like a forgotten treasure
A life that I’m reclaiming
For the lost paths

We all take the straight line
It’s shorter, oh yes, it’s shorter
We don’t see that it’s narrow
There’s no more room for love

I wanted to say that I love you
Without hope and without regrets
I wanted to say that I love you, love you
Because it feels so real