Language never touches reality—it only produces difference, never the thing itself. (It can describe everything, yet a gap remains; it never fully encapsulates what it describes, only highlighting differences.)
It’s non-all, non-totalizing: a tool we use but can never master, and it often fails to convey what we mean. (We are forced to rely on interpretation.)
We usually refuse to notice that failure. But it’s exactly this incompleteness—language’s and our own inability to fully articulate ourselves—that maintains mystery, which drives us (and language) to grow.