humans of Dublin

I met Ciarán on a Tuesday night in Whelan’s, which is probably the most Dublin way to begin a story I spent years pretending was unusual. My friend had dragged me there…

By the time I realised love had left us, we were still paying the electricity bill together. That’s the thing nobody tells you. Love can go quietly, without slamming a door, and…

I met Niamh on a wet Tuesday evening outside Connolly Station, both of us pretending we were fine with the rain while clearly losing the battle. She was trying to open an…

I met Daniel on a wet Thursday night outside Whelan’s, though neither of us had planned to be there. I was twenty-nine, newly single, and carrying around the kind of sadness that…

I used to think betrayal had to look dramatic. A suitcase by the door. A lipstick mark. A phone lighting up at midnight. Mine came in plain white envelopes from the bank,…

I met Aoife on a wet Tuesday evening outside Hodges Figgis, both of us pretending the rain wasn’t soaking through our coats. She was standing under the narrow shelter by the door,…

By the time we decided to pretend we had never met, we had been together eight years and had become very good at silence. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that sits…

I used to think love was proved by waiting. Waiting for a text back, waiting outside a pub in the rain, waiting for someone to become the person they were on the…