At its core, Inori Minase’s “まだ、言わないで。” (Mada, Iwanaide / “Don’t Say It Yet”) is a meditation on the power of withheld words. Rather than rushing toward resolution, the lyrics circle around pauses, silences, and the spaces between confession and hesitation. It is a song where restraint becomes its own kind of intimacy, where the moment before revelation holds more weight than revelation itself.
The Beginning and the Pause
覚えていたよ、はじまりはそんな歌で
Oboete ita yo, hajimari wa sonna uta de
I remembered it, the beginning was with such a songわかっていたよ、その意味も続きも
Wakatte ita yo, sono imi mo tsudzuki mo
I already knew—the meaning, and the continuation―――まだ、言わないで。
——— Mada, iwanaide.
——— Don’t say it yet.
The opening lines establish memory and inevitability: the speaker “remembers” the beginning and already “knows” the continuation. Yet the refrain—“まだ、言わないで”—insists on deferral. The tension lies between certainty and hesitation. This paradox is a recurring motif: knowledge is present, yet words are withheld, because what is unsaid can sometimes carry greater power than what is spoken.
The Fragility of Tomorrow
待っていたの、触れて確かな明日を
Matte ita no, furete tashikana ashita o
I was waiting to touch a certain tomorrow会いたいのは、今日を認めたいから
Aitai no wa, kyō o mitometai kara
I want to meet you, because I want to affirm today
The desire for “a certain tomorrow” reflects a longing for stability. Yet the reason for seeking tomorrow is rooted in today. This inversion suggests that the present moment is validated not through self-sufficiency but through connection—the desire to “meet you.” The song reveals a deep awareness of time’s fragile structure: the past contains mistakes, the future holds promise, and the present seeks affirmation.
Imperfection Bound by Song
曖昧な返事も不器用な愛で束ねよう
Aimai na henji mo bukiyō na ai de tabaneyō
Let’s bind even vague answers with clumsy love夢の音が消えてしまわないように
Yume no oto ga kiete shimawanai yō ni
So that the sound of dreams won’t vanish僕たちは歌っていた
Bokutachi wa utatte ita
We were singing
Here, imperfection is not rejected but embraced. Ambiguity and clumsiness are “bound” together, and song becomes the medium that preserves them. The “sound of dreams” is fragile, but singing gives it permanence. The act of singing is both protective and connective—an artistic gesture against disappearance.
Stars, Notes, and the Space of Silence
ふたり、ため息をひとつ 星空を見上げた
Futari, tameiki o hitotsu, hoshizora o miageta
The two of us let out a sigh and looked up at the starry sky点と天を紡ぐように 瞬間が譜になって
Ten to ten o tsumugu yō ni, shunkan ga fu ni natte
As if weaving points and heavens, moments became notes on a score
The imagery is striking: the sky becomes a musical score, stars transforming into notes, sighs into rhythm. The cosmic is rendered intimate, and the intimate is made cosmic. It is an image of connection—between individuals, between sound and silence, between earth and heaven.
And yet the refrain returns: “このままでいさせて。まだ、言わないで。” The plea is not for revelation but for suspension, for remaining in this delicate state where music and silence coexist.
Memory as Story, the Childlike Future
例えるなら、過ぎた日が物語
Tatoeru nara, sugita hi ga monogatari
If I were to compare, the days gone by are a storyねえ、ずっと子供みたいにさ
Nee, zutto kodomo mitai ni sa
Hey, just like children forever永遠を、その先を信じていたい
Eien o, sono saki o shinjite itai
I want to keep believing in eternity, and beyond
Here, the past becomes narrative—a story shaped by remembrance—while the future is framed in childlike belief. This juxtaposition of past-as-story and future-as-dream captures the song’s temporal logic: the present is a hinge, fragile and fleeting, but capable of holding both memory and hope.
Light, Tears, and the Prism of Love
光に溺れた、プリズム越しの涙が、愛おしくて。
Hikari ni oboreta, purizumu goshi no namida ga, itoshikute.
Drowned in light, the tears through a prism were so dear
The prism image is key. Light refracts, breaking into multiplicity. Tears, when filtered through this prism, become precious—an emblem of vulnerability transformed into beauty. Where earlier the refrain asked for words to be withheld, here it asks for listening: “まだ、言わないよ。その時はちゃんと聴いて。” The shift from speech to listening marks a turn: intimacy is not in declaration, but in the attentive presence to the unsaid.
Conclusion: The Song of Hesitation
Mada, Iwanaide is not a song of resolution, but of suspension. Its repeated refrain is a prayer for delay, for the sanctity of the moment before revelation. Through images of stars, music, memory, and refracted light, the lyrics weave a meditation on the power of silence, the fragility of time, and the intimacy of shared hesitation.
The song suggests that in the space of “not yet,” we find both vulnerability and strength. It is not absence, but a fullness waiting to be acknowledged—an unfinished phrase that continues to resonate.
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