Between Sleeps
-
The Book of Love
In a picture of your hometown, she will always be there. The one you built forts with, did arts&crafts with, romped around in the woods with, skied with, built sledding hills with, gossiped in the library with. But the hometown you lived in doesn’t exist anymore, too many having left and everyone having grown up.…
-
my body echoes
I am well accustomed to heartbreak by men and my country alike. My body belongs not to me, in this lifetime but to those very men and my country. . And with these men it is so easy to blame myself for their violations, for I did not protect myself accordingly— Accountability in its own…
-
best friends forever
i know longer trade friendship bracelets but little pieces of my heart for little pieces of yours to take with me when i’m gone, when you’ve left for something new, because we knew this could never be forever and i’ve found myself with nothing of my own heart for it is scattered to the wind,…
-
Dub-less in Dublin: due for heartbreak
You are annoyed because you like him. Well, maybe you’re annoyed because you let yourself like him. There’s only you to blame in all of this. Because last time you liked, you ended up naked, curled into the smallest ball you could make out of your long legs, and stared at the wall. It wasn’t…
-
Dub-less in Dublin: men who cross the (red) line
Hey man, I’m still at least 15 minutes away. A thick Dublin accent cutting through one of the first chilly evenings in Dublin. Yeah, sorry. Someone fucking pissed on the Luas. The three of us looked at each other with the look that says, another day, another slay on the red line Luas and then…
-
Dub-less in Dublin: skeletons in the closet
I’ve been sitting on this one for a while–it’s actually the story that began Dubless in Dublin. I’d like to say that it’s because I’ve had multiple papers and I am working on my dissertation, and while that’s true, we all know that never stopped me from cranking out a bangin nonfic essay. Honestly, the…
-
Dub-less in Dublin: the one with no name
This time, I bring to you a short update to Dubless in Dublin even though I’ve made you wait for so many weeks. I do apologize for that, I don’t mean to be sporadic but the dating scene can get exhausting, and writing about it like it’s all fun and games is just not entirely…
-
Dub-less in Dublin: dimension hopping edition
Alright guys, let’s get serious for a second…have you ever left this dimension? Because we have. Oh, where’s the portal you ask? Ti Joe Watty’s on Inis Mor in Galway Bay, if you must know. Things happen in Joe Watty’s that would (maybe the better word is should) never happen in this dimension. Seeing your…
-
Dub-less in Dublin: but you can call me ricky…
To provide more context to how we came to know the ‘R’ sound is absolutely and egregiously disgusting in an American accent, we must go back to our first week in Dublin in which my other dear roommate was becoming acquainted with the Trinity College gym and sports facilities. And I don’t know if it’s…
-
Dub-less in Dublin: the dangers of a ‘wet floor’ caution sign
As I think about how to write about each of our experiences with dating, I realize that perhaps I hold antiquated views of what heterosexual dating ought to look like. There are rules about dating to make women believe that chivalry isn’t dead, just long enough to lure her in before true colors are uncovered. …
That Place Between Sleep and Awake: That Place Where You Remember Dreaming 