I met Cian on a wet Thursday outside Whelan’s, both of us sheltering under the same useless awning while the rain came sideways across Wexford Street. He was carrying a guitar with…

It started because of a hotel room and a lie that was easier to keep than correct. Niamh and I had been friends since college, the kind who could sit in silence…

I bought the ring on a wet Thursday in December, the kind of Dublin rain that seems to come at you sideways and personally. I had finished work early near Grafton Street,…

I used to write in a small black journal on the 15B bus from Rathmines into town. Nothing important, I told myself. Shopping lists, odd dreams, sentences I overheard outside pubs, complaints…

I met him on a wet Thursday evening outside the Dublin Writers Museum, both of us pretending the rain wasn’t getting to us. He had a broken umbrella and a calm, distracted…

I used to think love was what happened in the gaps between ordinary things. His hand finding mine on the walk home from Camden Street. Two coffees balanced badly on the Luas.…

I was twenty-two when he left Dublin with one suitcase, a cheap navy coat, and a promise that distance would not make a coward out of him. We were standing outside Connolly…