Status: done.

En Liberté

Don't be told it can't be done,

It's strange; a foreign country, rakish tongue and damp, faded stone. There's pattern pebbles too, ones that skim across the water if you throw them just right.

Everything was beautiful, perfect even. But that didn't make it feel like home, nothing could.

Written for this contest, using this picture.

because the best all die young.