The Constorium of Greater Minds

The sun – rose, and moon – lily, high in the sky and shimmering all the while. It was a warm type of summer night and quite wide too. The waves crashing and smashing and hissing on the rocks far below the ornate railing where we stood looking out over the Dalmatian Coast. Seagulls gliding overhead gave hungry cries that reverberated off the cliff face. If I were to paint a picture of this place with words it would consist of warm reds and oranges and deep blues with specks of silver; a hauntingly romantic pallet with a hint of forever.
Yes, dear?
It was a pleasant walk from the hostel into town. We passed the bars with their Australians and gin and tonics and light jazz, down the steep walkway wedged between the road and one thousand feet of vertical rock; breathtaking beauty. We stopped to peer into enchanting courtyards covered in shadow and cut off from the world by giant, black iron rot fences. They melted into the darkness, the grey cement stone walls covered in vines, covered in vines.
I said I never want to leave, my love.
On down past the giant hotel, a skeleton in its remodeling stages destined to house the hundreds who would later infest the place with their drunken discourse and their sober ignorance.

I remember a night in July. A warm night with a soft breeze that danced on the quiet procession and recession of the tide; it made the night fresh and captured the details of our meandering conversation and sent them to intertwine with the smoke above our heads where it followed a course gently out to sea. Helena sat leaning against a pillow set out on the beach front, legs stretched out before her.