I used to think distance was the hardest thing two people could survive. When Cian got the job in Amsterdam, I cried into my scarf outside Heuston Station as if he was…

I met Niamh on a wet Thursday outside the Workman’s Club, when the rain was coming down sideways and everyone was pretending not to mind. I had been standing under the narrow…

We got the keys on a wet Friday in November, the kind of Dublin rain that makes every streetlight look bruised. The house was in Drimnagh, a small redbrick terrace with a…

For nearly two years, I measured Dublin by where I might run into him. I avoided the corner of South William Street where we had our first stupid argument over chips. I…

I met her on a wet Thursday in Dublin, the kind of evening when the whole city seems to be shining under streetlights. I was waiting outside a café near Grafton Street,…

I met Niamh on a wet Thursday evening outside Whelan’s, where the queue was curling down Wexford Street and everyone was pretending the rain was grand. She had a blue scarf wrapped…

We made the promise outside the old screen at the IFI, with rain shining on the cobbles of Temple Bar and her mascara smudged from laughing, not crying. Or at least that’s…