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 met Aoife on a wet Tuesday outside Dublin Castle, both of us pretending we hadn’t just been stood up by the same walking tour. She laughed first, which saved me from…
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 left the journal on the windowsill of her flat in Portobello, beside a dying basil plant and a mug with a crack through the handle. I did not leave it there…
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…
I met Aoife on a wet Tuesday evening outside the George’s Street Arcade, both of us pretending we weren’t waiting for the rain to soften. I was holding a paper bag with…
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…
I met Aoife in the smoking area of The Long Hall on a wet Thursday when neither of us smoked. She was waiting for her sister, I was pretending I didn’t mind…
I met Aoife in the smoking area of The Long Hall on a wet Thursday in February, though neither of us smoked. We were both hiding from people we had come with.…