The Opening Question
Σωκράτης: ὦ φίλε Φαῖδρε, ποῖ δὴ καὶ πόθεν;
Socrates: Beloved Phaedrus, where to and where from?
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Sometimes I long to go back. To when I first read these words, when I heard them from your lips and they were sweet words, these sweet and bitter words. I was young then, and beautiful I guess, and I was the one who you caught on the way. I was the one who you loved.
Now you are gone. These words are here, shapes on a page, but things have changed. I have changed. Meanings have changed. Has your love changed?
Did you ever love me at all?
Sometimes I wonder. Even in my salad days, we were never alone. It was never just you and me. It was always you, and me, and somebody else. You, and me, and the whole god-dammed city. I am not jealous. I am not angry. That is what made you who you were.
Who you are.
If there is one thing in this world I will never forget, it is this. Socrates came from Athens. Socrates died in Athens. Socrates, my Socrates, wouldn’t leave Athens any other way.
I too am gone from Athens, now.
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