Socrates by Leonidas Mejia
“The only thing I know is that I know nothing”
Frankly, I know everything.
Like how the world turns fast.
And how quickly innocence can be stamped out.
How quickly someone’s hands can move.
How strong their grasp can be.
And how their breath cascades down my back.
But it’s not.
Because not all boys are gay.
And not all boys are six years old.
And most boys have a choice.
Because now I’m the minority.
You spoke 13 words.
And a single phrase changed my life.
“I love you.”
You don’t love me.
No one can.
Let the pressure rise.
For I’ve been forsaken.
In your molten grasp I choke.
You are Vesuvius and I’m Pompeii.
I’ve been turned to stone.
There’s something philosophical about that isn’t there?
Lack of ability?
Lack of purpose.
Lack of wholeness.
The lack of being enough is a concept I’ll never understand.
Because enough is too much.
I just want to be okay.
I want to find an answer.
But there is no answer, is there?
The only way to find meaning is to admit there isn’t any meaning.
And that’s really morbid.
But I’m done searching for meaning.
And the only thing I know is that I know nothing.