Byrne wasn't one to admit when he felt "happy." He wanted to believe he couldn't feel happy, that he was destined to live with guilt for the rest of his life. That's what he deserved, so any time he felt okay with his life, that he felt he could enjoy himself, he wanted to stop himself. It was a slow process, of course, but... Gradually he was able to feel better.
After all, he was in love. In love. He couldn't remember the last time he truly was in love - it was so long ago, probably several decades ago, since he wouldn't allow himself to feel these things. He had forgotten what it was like, the giddiness of realizing such a thing, accompanied by the utter regret.
But it was these things he kept in mind when he went about his daily life. A relatively content feeling meant now that sometimes in his room he actually played his guitar at times, gradually building up small calluses on his fingers from the strumming and the plucking. He could be reading books too, or else he was out at the gym training. Or taking a walk, or something. He still kept mostly to himself, of course.
Byrne | TD-22 and places
After all, he was in love. In love. He couldn't remember the last time he truly was in love - it was so long ago, probably several decades ago, since he wouldn't allow himself to feel these things. He had forgotten what it was like, the giddiness of realizing such a thing, accompanied by the utter regret.
But it was these things he kept in mind when he went about his daily life. A relatively content feeling meant now that sometimes in his room he actually played his guitar at times, gradually building up small calluses on his fingers from the strumming and the plucking. He could be reading books too, or else he was out at the gym training. Or taking a walk, or something. He still kept mostly to himself, of course.