How much does it take, then, to begin to right some perceived wrong? ( Perceived here meaning inarguable, absolute, undefinable. There is no denying the things that he has done - to her, to Dameron, to Solo and everyone else tangentially linked to him - however much Kylo cloaks them in a hypothetical reality. No amount of philosophizing or hypothesizing will change the course of the river from its source, no branching pathway will reorganize the flow of things to alter the decisions he made in an effort to seize power, to inherit a legacy that was denied him as much as he and everyone else around him denied it, to satisfy the gaping hunger for more and better that permeated his thoughts with the inherent promise of acceptance and understanding and appreciation. He cut so many down on a crash course to making more mistakes than anyone else in his family had ever made, and that's all that it boils down to: mistakes.
Would he take any of it back if he could? There's no point in even asking the question, since he can't. Will it matter if he regrets it in the end, when he's brought before a panel of his mother's associates and equals and put on trial for all the regrets that he has, when he once again finds himself incapable of resisting that pull as he drags Rey down under the surface with him? It's a far cry from what he'd wanted only months ago, when the thought of her listening with rapt attention and completely in sync with him would have curled down his spine with an anticipatory shiver. )
Wishing it were more or less doesn't change anything. Being a little sorry about any of it or being haunted with guilt over all of it, it doesn't matter. As you've said, nothing has that power. ( That isn't precisely what she means, and he knows it, but it seems easier to twist her words around into something to serve his own purposes than it does to let them exist on their own merit. She's right, though, nothing has that power: not him, not Snoke, not Rey, not the legacy that he has beat himself black and blue trying to emulate. ) Would you find it appropriate to forgive me, if I said that I regretted it? ( Another hypothetical, technically, but he poses it all the same. )
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Would he take any of it back if he could? There's no point in even asking the question, since he can't. Will it matter if he regrets it in the end, when he's brought before a panel of his mother's associates and equals and put on trial for all the regrets that he has, when he once again finds himself incapable of resisting that pull as he drags Rey down under the surface with him? It's a far cry from what he'd wanted only months ago, when the thought of her listening with rapt attention and completely in sync with him would have curled down his spine with an anticipatory shiver. )
Wishing it were more or less doesn't change anything. Being a little sorry about any of it or being haunted with guilt over all of it, it doesn't matter. As you've said, nothing has that power. ( That isn't precisely what she means, and he knows it, but it seems easier to twist her words around into something to serve his own purposes than it does to let them exist on their own merit. She's right, though, nothing has that power: not him, not Snoke, not Rey, not the legacy that he has beat himself black and blue trying to emulate. ) Would you find it appropriate to forgive me, if I said that I regretted it? ( Another hypothetical, technically, but he poses it all the same. )