Tenacious

I told you that ‘tenacious’ meant tough. A few days later we went out to eat and you described your steak as tenacious. That didn’t sound quite right – a person can be tenacious, but an inanimate slab of flesh, surely, can’t. I spent the rest of the meal absorbed in this. Then as we held hands on the way back, you told me about everything; about what happened and what he did. I felt your hand in mine, and knew that you were still alive. You can call a piece of meat tenacious if you want. Damn it, you can do whatever you like. You can recreate the very foundations of Being. If you want to call your steak tenacious, then who am I to object? And if I want to worship you as a god then how, I pray, could that be wrong?