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…
I met Aoife on a wet Tuesday outside Connolly Station, the kind of Dublin rain that doesn’t fall so much as linger on your face. I was twenty-six, working nights in a…
I met Niamh in a queue outside a tiny café in Stoneybatter, both of us pretending not to be annoyed by the rain. She was ahead of me, holding a tote bag…
I was twenty-nine when I learned that silence can take up more space in a room than furniture. It happened on a wet Thursday in Dublin, the kind of night when the…
I met Anna in the queue for coffee near St Stephen’s Green, both of us pretending not to be annoyed by the rain. She had a green scarf wrapped around her hair…
I knew something was wrong before we even left Dublin. We were standing in Heuston Station with two coffees going cold between us, and Mark was scrolling through his phone with the…
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…
It began with a lie told in a queue outside Grogan’s, of all places, with rain tapping on the awning and both of us too tired to correct it. Conor and I…