I met Niamh on a wet Tuesday outside St Stephen’s Green, both of us pretending we were too proud to run for the same Luas. She had a paper bag of books…

We had been together for six years, long enough that people stopped asking when we would move in together and started asking when we would get married. I used to laugh and…

I used to think love should feel safe. Not boring, exactly, but steady. Like the 46A arriving when the rain starts, like the lighted windows along Rathmines on a winter evening, like…

I used to think love would arrive loudly, with certainty, like the first bus pulling into Dublin on a wet morning. With him, it arrived in pieces. A hand on my back…

I met him on a wet Tuesday in Dublin, the kind of day when the buses hiss at the kerb and everyone looks personally betrayed by the sky. I was twenty-three, working…

I met him on a wet Tuesday outside Connolly Station, both of us pretending the rain wasn’t as bad as it was. He had a paper bag from a bakery tucked under…

I met him on a wet Tuesday morning outside the Capuchin Day Centre on Bow Street, the kind of rain that doesn’t fall so much as settle into your bones. I had…

I cancelled my wedding on a wet Tuesday morning in Dublin, three weeks before I was meant to walk down the aisle. People always imagine a scene when you say that. A…

I met her on a Friday evening in the kind of rain that makes Dublin look like it has been painted in grey water. I was standing outside the Workman’s Club, pretending…

I kept the diary in the bottom drawer of a small desk I bought second-hand in Rathmines. It was nothing fancy, just a navy notebook with a cracked spine and tea stains…