4 Seasons | Dublin !!better!!

“You look like someone who forgot how to feel the rain,” he said, not looking up. His voice was a low gravel, like the Liffey at low tide.

She met him at a gig in Whelan’s. His name was Lorcan. He played guitar with his eyes closed, as if the music was a secret he was only borrowing. They talked until the barman swept the floor around their feet. He walked her home across the Ha’penny Bridge, the river below black and glittering with reflected streetlights. 4 seasons dublin

Aisling smiled. It was a small smile, barely a movement of muscle. But it was real. It was winter, and she was still here. The dark had not swallowed her. The cold had not killed her. “You look like someone who forgot how to

On the shortest day, she walked alone through St. Stephen’s Green. The ducks were gone. The flowers were a memory. But the bare trees were beautiful—their black branches intricate as veins, as neural pathways, as the cracks in the heart that let the light in. His name was Lorcan