I met Conor on a wet Tuesday in Smithfield, the kind of evening where Dublin looks like it has been rubbed with silver. I was standing outside the Luas stop with a…

I used to believe love announced itself loudly, with certainty, like a song starting in a pub when everyone already knew the words. By the winter I turned thirty-four, I had stopped…

I met Aoife on a wet Tuesday outside Whelan’s, both of us pretending we weren’t waiting for the same taxi. She had a paper bag of chips under one arm and was…

We broke up at half three on a wet Tuesday, sitting in my parked car near St Stephen’s Green, with the wipers moving like they were trying to keep time with our…

I was thirty-eight when I decided, very quietly, that love was no longer something meant for me. There was no dramatic announcement, no pint slammed down in a pub, no tearful speech…