My wife started yoga because of her back. That is the part I kept repeating to myself, as if the whole story could be made ordinary again by returning to the first…

I sent the last text at 1:17 in the morning, standing under the yellow light outside Tara Street Station, with rain needling the back of my neck and the Liffey looking black…

I met him on a wet Thursday evening outside St Stephen’s Green, the kind of Dublin rain that doesn’t fall so much as settle into your bones. I was standing under the…

I knew I should not go the minute the invitation landed on the mat. Thick cream card, our names written in that careful gold script people use when they are trying to…

I met him on a Tuesday evening in Dublin, which is to say I met him when neither of us was at our best. I was carrying a broken umbrella through the…

I met him on a wet Thursday in Dublin, the kind of evening when the buses sigh at the kerb and everyone looks like they have somewhere warmer to be. I was…

I met him on a wet Thursday in Smithfield, the kind of Dublin evening where the sky gives up pretending and just pours. I had gone to The Cobblestone with two friends…

I met him on a wet Thursday evening outside Kehoe’s, when Dublin had that silver look it gets after rain, all shining footpaths and taxi lights. I was trying to open an…

I used to tell people we were “just passionate.” That was the word I gave it when he shouted at me outside a pub in Rathmines because I had laughed too much…

I met Aoife on a wet Thursday outside Whelan’s, both of us pretending we weren’t too old to be queuing in the rain for a band we only half knew. She had…