I met her on a January morning at the Forty Foot, the kind of morning when the sea looks less like water and more like a dare. I had gone there because…

I met Eoin on a wet July evening in Dingle when I was twenty-one and pretending I was only there for the work. I had taken a summer job washing glasses in…

I grew up in a village so small that if you bought cough sweets in the shop, three people would ask your mother if you were coming down with something before you…

I used to think heartbreak had to be loud. Doors closing, boxes packed, someone crying in a kitchen while the kettle boiled for no reason. When my five-year relationship with Aoife ended,…

I met him on the Luas on a wet Tuesday evening, the kind of Dublin rain that does not fall so much as hang in the air and wait for you to…

I met her on a wet Thursday in Galway, in a pub so full of raincoats and fiddles that it felt like the whole city had come indoors to dry itself. I…

I met him outside Whelan’s on a wet Thursday night, the kind of Dublin rain that doesn’t fall so much as hang in the air and get into your sleeves. I had…

I used to think a marriage ended in one dramatic scene. A slammed door. A confession at the kitchen table. Someone crying into a suitcase. Mine ended much more quietly than that.…

I met Clara outside St Stephen’s Green on a wet Thursday evening when the city looked like it had been rinsed in grey water. I was twenty-six, working in a café near…