the philosopher kings, by jo walton
Thursday, July 9th, 2015
when I looked up and out the sea was, well, wine-dark as Homer puts it. The sea was a deep dark blue of precisely the same reflective luminosity as rich red wine.
I knew what death meant now. It was conversations cut off.
I kept trying to be less unjust, but did I ever really improve?
She sighed. “Everything is complicated and compromised.” “It is,” I said. “That’s the nature of reality.”
I was older now. I didn’t know whether I was wiser.
