Once, Cyprus had conversations.
At café tables. On balconies. Late into the evening, over coffee or zivania.
Our conversations wandered. Looped back on themselves. Punctuated by laughter, they were long and deep and often meaningful.
Back then, talking was the point. Time stretched to make room for long chats; there was nowhere else you had to be, nothing else you had to do. Long into the winter nights as the
