The Courts of Chaos

I saw my earlier selves as different people, acquaintances I had outgrown. I wondered how I could ever have been some of them.

And the man clad in black and silver with a silver rose upon him? He would like to think that he has learned something of trust, that he has washed his eyes in some clear spring, that he has polished an ideal or two. Never Mind. He may still be only a smart-mouthed meddler, skilled mainly in the minor art of survival, blind as ever the dungeons knew him to the finer shades of irony. Never mind, let it go, let it be. I may never be pleased with him.

So I simply said one of the great trite truths: "There is generally more than one side to a story.