Love in Paradise: a 99c. Romance

She married Peter here, right here on this spot under that waterfall, by that rock, five years ago nearly to the day. He wore a white cotton suit, open at the neck. A pocket square, pale blue and dapper, poked from his breast. She wore sandals, the same blue, and she wore a shift dress in cream with wild flowers in a bouquet and roses twirled through her hair. Afterwards, when their families had left and their friends were all gone, they sat on that rock. They listened to the music of the little waterfall, they listened to the music of the Mediterranean, they listened to the distant call of the sirocco singing its siren song to the stars.
This place is beautiful, it is why she chose it. She chose it five years ago and she chose it now. After love, after the stories, all she can think to hold on to is beauty. But beauty cannot heal wounds, it cannot remake what has been unmade. This place brought happiness in the early days; latterly, grief is served at its shore. Both time tears, both time stories.
And after the stories, what next?