That day we argued, I said I was talking about you—I was talking 80 percent metaphor, 20 percent you. I was talking 80 per cent metaphor as if my tongue was a leash attached to you. And you pointed out that conversations cannot be divisions, percentages, and that a tongue is merely a muscle intended for forming sounds.
That day you asked me for a five-letter word for discrepancy, I said you—we’ve divided our affections into this is ‘you’ and this is ‘me’, and I’m pulling you with my tongue, leading you along—and you said my definitions are definitions not applicable to you. And that words are just letters bound in books, arbitrary symbols of the language that I speak.
Which means, that day I told you I loved you, I was speaking in tongue—I was forming arbitrary sounds with a muscle intended for forming sounds, I was pulling you along with a muscle that I used wrong—that I used to hold on.
