I met Aoife on a wet Thursday evening outside the Abbey Theatre, both of us pretending we were too grown up to be bothered by the rain. She had no umbrella. I…

I was twenty-six when I learned that a place can keep your secrets better than a person can. It was the summer after I had lost my job in a café near…

On the Friday before our wedding, my fiancée took off her ring in the kitchen and placed it beside the toaster as carefully as if it were hot. We were living in…

I met her on a wet Tuesday outside St Stephen’s Green, the kind of Dublin rain that doesn’t fall so much as sit on you. I was twenty-seven, newly single, and pretending…

For years, I thought love ended with a slammed door. I imagined shouting in a hallway, a suitcase half-zipped, somebody crying outside in the rain like a scene from a film. Ours…

I found the letter on a wet Tuesday in November, the kind of Dublin afternoon when the buses sigh at the kerb and everyone looks personally betrayed by the sky. I had…

I met Cian in September, which was the worst possible month to meet someone you might love. Dublin was all gold leaves and wet pavements, the kind of weather that makes every…

I met Aoife on a wet Thursday outside Connolly Station, both of us sheltering under the same broken awning as if Dublin had arranged the introduction. She laughed when a bus sprayed…