"Mio, what do you think?"
Haru asked. Mio didn't answer, looking at the sky.
"Maybe it can't be put into words," Noa said quietly.
"Are there feelings that can't be put into words?" Haru turned.
"Many," Noa smiled.
"Like what?"
"The sensation of this moment. The air at dusk, the coldness of the wind, the movement of the heart."
Haru pondered. "But you just put it into words."
"An approximation," Noa answered. "Not the real sensation, but its shadow."
Mio looked at them. A small nod.
"Mio too?"
Mio didn't answer, looking at the sky again.
Noa explained. "Mio knows the incompleteness of words."
"Incomplete?"
"Words aren't the experience itself. They're labels, symbols."
Haru resisted. "But without words, it can't be conveyed."
"Being conveyed and being completely shared are different."
"How are they different?"
Noa gave an example. "When I say 'sad,' you think of your sadness. Different from my sadness."
"But they're similar, right?"
"We only think they're similar."
Haru was confused. "So words are meaningless?"
"Not meaningless. But limited."
Mio took out her notebook and wrote something. She showed it.
"The shape of clouds is like the heart."
Haru read it and looked at the sky. Indeed, clouds were flowing and changing shape.
"A metaphor?"
Noa nodded. "Can't say it directly, so approach through metaphor."
"Like poetry."
"Poetry is an attempt to touch what can't be verbalized."
Haru asked. "Then what's the identity of feelings that can't be put into words?"
"The experience itself," Noa answered. "Subjective quality."
"Qualia?"
"Yes. The redness of red, the painfulness of pain, this feeling at this moment."
Mio wrote again. "Something that exists before words."
Haru pondered. "But if you don't put it into words, won't you not understand it yourself?"
"Sharp," Noa was impressed. "Verbalization makes feelings clear."
"So feelings that can't be put into words are vague?"
"Vague but rich."
Mio nodded.
Haru asked. "Rich?"
Noa explained. "When you put it into words, things are stripped away. Subtle nuances, contradictions, multilayeredness."
"Words are simplification?"
"Abbreviation. But that's also convenient."
Haru took a deep breath. "So what about feelings that can't be put into words?"
"Just feel them," Mio said softly.
Haru was surprised. "Mio!"
Mio smiled. Then silence again.
Noa continued. "Maybe Mio is protecting the sensation by not verbalizing it."
"Protecting?"
"When you verbalize, sensation becomes fixed. Fluidity is lost."
Haru pondered. "But don't you need words to preserve memories?"
"Word memories and sensation memories are separate," Noa said.
"The body remembers?"
"Yes. Smells, sounds, touch. Memories not mediated by words."
Mio pointed at the sky. The clouds were dyed pink.
The three gazed in silence.
Haru murmured. "This feeling, I can't put into words."
"But we're sharing it," Noa smiled.
"Sharing? Without words?"
"Same place, same time. That's a kind of sharing."
Mio took Haru's hand. Warm.
Haru teared up. "What is this feeling?"
"You don't have to put it into words," Noa said.
Mio nodded.
Haru took a deep breath. "Feelings that can't be put into words don't have to be forced into words."
"But if you want to verbalize them, you can."
"Even if imperfect?"
"Because they're imperfect, you try many times," Noa said. "Like poets writing about the same theme repeatedly."
Mio closed her notebook. Written words. Something that still can't be conveyed.
Haru asked. "Will Mio speak someday?"
Mio thought, then answered softly. "When necessary."
"Not necessary now?"
"Now, I want to feel."
Haru smiled. "I understand."
The three were enveloped in the dusk. Something beyond words exists there. That was enough.