A nation is a paltry thing: a space on a map; a pennant flapping in the wind.
A nation is a paltry thing: the illusion of identity and difference where no difference exists.
A nation is a paltry thing: its history numbered in mere hundreds (or thousands) of years; a span of time all too brief.
Yet we cling to the idea of nation, as if ennobled by it; sanctified by it; justified by it.
And some are willing to fight and die for a nation, as if a nation were more than a collective illusion.