Dear Dublin…the return.

Dear Dublin,


It has been too long. I said I would be back, do you remember? Well, I meant it. I am returning to your busy, mean streets for a while. This new city makes me long for the trad-music in Temple Bar that I once hated and the donuts from the O’Connell kiosk, of which I ate far too many during exam periods and the memories of the heartbreak that I cherish now.

Your back alleys and dingy side-streets are tainted with broken love, loud laughter and bold curiosity. I can’t forget any of it. I shut my eyes and suddenly I am on Grafton Street at two thirty am, in a summer dress, my eyes wild and hopeful, staring into the mischievous face of my best friend, believing that anything really is possible. Where will tonight lead? Neither of us want to know. The anticipation of what might be, is enough for us. Tonight, we live. Tonight, we dance like we are the only two people in this whole damn city. We thrive on the lack of any real direction because in this moment all that matters is us. I miss that audacious delusion. I miss you. Because you, Dublin, are painted with the faces of my brothers and sisters that fought for the things they believed in. You are haunted by the faces of the rebels. You are woven from the faces of the renegades who dared to be different, the souls who insisted on being authentic and not just liked. You are composed of the men and women who took the right road, not the easy one. You are the embodiment of authenticity.

You see, the things that chased me away from your unhinged heart are now the things that make me crave your noise, your scent, your energy. The shattered promises, the shared secrets, the laughter between old friends, the tears, the memory of that first kiss, I crave them all.

That little café I avoided for the last year is the first place I will drink my coffee. Instead of grieving what I have lost, I will celebrate the fading memory of intertwined hands and how it feels to wear your heart on your sleeve.

I will lose myself in the street music along with the hopeless romantics dancing alone to the sound of hope.

I will decipher the numerous languages being spoken around me while I cycle like my life depends on it down Leeson’s street because although you are forgiving, your bus drivers are not.

I will indulge myself in the atmosphere of Café en Seine on a Thursday night in a pair of over-priced shoes and a dress that isn’t weather appropriate.

I will write crappy poetry in St Stephens green while a man I barely know tells me his unfiltered life-story.

I will pour my heart out to the handsome barista in a confusing, hipster café over a beverage I can’t pronounce.

I will, once again, look into my best friend’s defiant eyes and suggest a stroll in our drunken states, so we can, for just five minutes, soak it all up.

You are steeped in history and heartache.

I’ll see you on the flip side, I have a suitcase to pack.


Yours always,




Dear Dublin…

Dear Dublin,

It’s been a while. I never thought I’d write what I am about to write but I guess life is funny like that. I left your bustling, cold, wet streets on a typical October evening and thought I’d never look back. I thought I’d never miss the electric atmosphere, the loud, muffled laughter from a music filled pub or the weird and wonderful strangers who made the streets their own. There was a time when I didn’t like you. There was time when I didn’t understand you. There was a time when you chewed me up and spat me out. Left me lying on the streets, lost and heart-broken. You were there for it all. You were there when I was scared, wandering through the streets in the early hours. You were there for the melt-downs and the storms. You were there to witness the mean boys and shaping adventures. You were also there when I stood on the lawns of Trinity College as Summer was approaching. You were there for my first kiss with a boy that later stole my heart. You were there for the laughter. You were there for the eight gallons of Bewleys hot chocolate and the O’Connell kiosk donuts. You were there for the unbreakable bonds of friendship that were formed. You were there for the moment my roommate turned into my best-friend.You were there for my drunken rendition of Ed Sheeran on Leeson’s street and my deep, meaningful conversations with taxi drivers.

What I didn’t realise at the time is that you healed me. When I first met you I was broken. I was looking for a new beginning and you gave me just that. You were fast-paced and wild and I needed that. I let life get in the way of that precious relationship we were forming and I blamed it partially on you. Then, abruptly, unannounced I upped and left. No note, no explanation, no love lost. Until some months later when I craved you. I needed you. I needed your street musicians, your eccentric people, the diverse accents that populate your hub and your heart.

I didn’t appreciate you. I took you for granted. I let life cheapen my opinion of you. I see that now. I’m sorry. I’ll be back. Right now I am in a new city. It isn’t the same. It has yet to beguile me. It has yet to enchant me. Thank you. For all of it. I needed it.