Left leg
Too often I have considered you my second leg. Although the right one was always first to kick and play some of my fondest memories would have been impossible without you. Two specifically spring to mind.
Down 2 – 1 in a must win soccer game a ball floats across the top of box. At full sprint I see that only a left foot kick will be possible. In a rare moment of clarity I give you free raine and the ball sails perfectly into the the top right corner. Your accuracy on this day has doubtless been forgotten by all but I remember it fondly.  The game was a draw but without you it would have been a loss.
Athletics carnival, year 12. I stand before a small crowd of people I wish very much to impress. Having already secured me victory in the high jump, the only athletics event I ever did well at, I am giving you a crack at a jump of 175 cm. I never trained you to jump, you just seemed to know how to do it. Watched by those I wished to show off to (for now I can see my actions for what they were, although I regret them not) I once again gave you room to do what was needed. On the third try I cleared the bar. It is one of the proudest moment I feel privileged that it is shared with you.
And now the party is over. Life is here and can not be ignored. I dropped you from a building because I was scared and now you are infected with angry red lumps.  You can not straighten or run. You fill with fluid and go numb if I do not move you enough. At night you are in pain, during the day you sit on a chair and dream of the days you used to be free. Oh faithful friend and companion I mourn for thee. Only from such glory is so much sorrow felt.
But I will always remember. You were a leg fit for a king and served me well. I hope to keep you, I hope to heal you. I am sorry if I fail.
Dare I say it, left leg, I love you.