Last night I dreamed I was a red balsam flower. I was I but I was a flower too. Then you came and picked me up, put me on your fingernail. You smeared me there my blood spilling out. I did not know if I was dying as a flower or as me. Your hands and fingers were waving in the air tipped with my blood. You laughed with joy and shouted; It’s the season of balsam flower dyeing!
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