"What is love?"
Simon was surprised by Noa's question.
"You're asking? You, the intuitive one?"
"That's exactly why," Noa smiled. "It feels impossible to put into words."
Mio listened quietly. As always.
Simon thought. "Plato defined love as desire for what we lack."
"Lack?"
"Imperfect beings seek perfection. That is love."
Noa tilted her head. "But isn't that proof of incompleteness?"
"Yes. Love exists because we are incomplete."
"That's bittersweet."
"But beautiful," Simon said. "Incompleteness creates connection."
Noa showed another angle. "But do parents love children from lack?"
"Good counterpoint. Agape, unconditional love, might be a different kind."
"Love has types?"
"Greek has four words for love," Simon explained. "Eros, philia, storge, agape."
"What's the difference?"
"Eros is passionate love. Philia is friendship. Storge is familial love. Agape is unconditional love."
Mio wrote in her notebook and showed it. "All are love, yet different"
"All are love, yet different," Noa translated.
Simon nodded. "The problem is trying to express all of them with one word."
"The limits of language?"
"Wittgenstein said 'whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.'"
Noa laughed quietly. "So love is unspeakable?"
"Not completely," Simon admitted. "But we can approach it."
"How?"
"Metaphor, poetry, music... indirect expressions."
Mio wrote again. "Love is beyond words"
"Love is beyond words," Noa read.
"But," Noa questioned, "don't we need words to understand?"
"Understanding and experience are different," Simon said. "Love is something to be experienced."
"Can't be explained, but can be felt?"
"Yes. Just as you can't explain red to someone colorblind, love can't be directly conveyed."
Noa pondered. "Then is talking about love meaningless?"
"No," Simon denied. "Even if imperfect, there's meaning in the attempt."
"Why?"
"The attempt to verbalize deepens understanding. Even if we can't fully capture it."
Mio stood up and wrote on the whiteboard.
"The attempt to explain is itself an expression of love"
"The attempt to explain is itself an expression of love," Noa translated.
Simon was impressed. "Profound, Mio."
Mio smiled faintly and returned to her seat.
Noa looked out the window. A couple walking. Exchanging words.
"Are they explaining love?"
"More like sharing it," Simon said. "Words are tools for sharing experience."
"Not perfect though?"
"Don't need to be perfect. As long as there's connection."
Noa took a deep breath. "Maybe love is connection itself."
"Good insight," Simon nodded. "Love exists in relationships."
"Between subject and object?"
"Yes. Love doesn't exist alone."
Mio quietly opened her notebook and wrote just one line.
Noa peeked. "Love exists in the space between"
"Love in the space between," Noa murmured.
Simon smiled. "Mio is a poet."
"A silent poet," Noa said.
The three quietly reflected. On love, something that cannot be put into words, yet certainly exists.
"In the end, we can't explain it," Noa laughed.
"That's what makes it beautiful," Simon answered.
Mio smiled in silence. Her silence was the most eloquent.