I am a flower in your field, Nation. A lush, colorful, vast field. It takes your breath away. It blooms and buzzes. It sparkles and reaches for the sun.

I am a slave, Nation. To memories and illusions. My own and those of others. To hopes and fears.

My thought flows through narrow corridors. It blossoms only in certain shapes and not for very long.

We are, you and I, Nation, the same.