honea byrne

It is action time. I'm either going to do it or NOT! Am I going to seek my ex-girlfriend?  This is the end part of this saga. Note:  play this song while reading this for full entertainment purpose. “What do you want?” In those couple of seconds as I wait to reply I think: Some songs, sounds, sights, and touch get lost in time. I remember the pain we put each other through just to make our time together exciting. Like arguing just to have passionate makeup. After a while; the arguing was more than the makeup. This may be my only opportunity I’ll have to make amends. THAT IS A LIE I AM TELLING MYSELF. Yea, you go through your life lying. Then something happens and you are forced to face the truth…and I got this feeling, knot in my stomach, this could be one of those moments. “Sir?” I look up at the waitress. I NEED TO LEAVE. She is in her early twenties. “Uh…” I dig in my pocket. Pull out the crumpled five-dollar bill. I could write my phone number on it and

...and so that day came. The day when I saw my ex-girl friend. The one that I wondered what would have happened if I would have done her better. I had written many things about her. Had written many things about how hurt I was when it ended. These writings are just a portion of a saga I titled A 100 Love Letters I'll Never Send. I tried to drink and drug the memories, the angst away. I see her with her man. Now I am trying to muster the gumption to walk up to her... What are the chances? I think about what I will say.  My heart beat increased. I felt sweat beading on my forehead. I had heard from somewhere that you had gotten sober about 4 years prior than I did. Or may be I just told myself that with so much will to believe that I believed something I told myself.  That’s redundant. Ridiculous as talking to and about you with you having no idea.  I have been writing letters to you. Been waiting for this moment. In my car I have an old briefcase fil

"I am just a dreamer and you were just a dream you could have been anyone to me."-Neil Young lyrics from song " Hurricane " “Good morning honey,” you kiss me on the cheek while I’m reading the morning paper. “Good morning Dad,” that’s Johnny Gerald, our son. He just got through taking our dog, Birmingham, outside. “Smells good, dear,” I compliment your cooking. This morning you’re cooking your omelettes. “Thanks,” you reply. “Is there anything you need me to bring you on my way back from work?” I ask as you put the freshly made omelette on my plate. We been married about ten years now. You have a job at the best Accounting firm in town. I have a job as a high school principal. The home we live in is two stories. We have a white picket fence. The perfect dream came true with faith, love, perseverance, and hard work. We work as a team to have the greatest quality of life we can have. This house is just one example. We bought the land. Came up with the initial p

"... who   have recovered from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body."- Alcoholics Annonymous  A Forward to First Edition I put the papers that I wrote before, during and after you, down for now. Many who read this may not understand how I feel better now and why it is important. There was a time in my life when I woke up for extended periods of time with that knot in my stomach. The kind of knot that comes when there is something wrong, ‘I’m in trouble,’ ‘I can’t handle this anymore,’ ‘I don’t want to live no more.’ Work through the day. Get back home. Get back into the bottle to feel better. Yet I would feel worse. I still have those moments. These moments aren’t as long and aren’t as intense. I learned in rehab that I had damaged my brain. The drugs had been feeding dopamine artificially to my brain. Thus my brain stopped making dopamine. Dopamine is the chemical in your brain that brings pleasure. Thus came withdrawals and depression. In time, without drugs

I don’t think. I think. I don’t think. I think. I don’t think I can think my way into right thinking without living-trying to live a life. I keep saying “It’s the lies I believe are true is the distance between me and you.” What things did I start believing when I was destroying myself? Destroying myself and placing the blame on you-so inevitably the plan was to get sympathy so I’d be in some self-delusional protection-using words and actions as a security blanket. I often think that I would be better now to you if given the chance. I put the papers that I wrote before, during and after you, down for now. "... who   have recovered from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body."- Alcoholics Annonymous A Forward to First Edition

There is also such an emotional toll to the creative process. So many times I am emotionally connected and just finish  what I am working on  so I can move on to learn something else out about life, about myself, and my role in this life.  Everyone says they are going to write a book. Who will read it though?  After almost a decade, I am finally mature enough to realize that I let my foolish pride stand in the way of my success.  If I would have just edited and resubmitted 2 to 1 I probably could have had it published with a company. Furthermore, in the past, I took rejection as a personal insult.Publishers might issue out rejection slips to separate who will continue, persevere, and who will quit. Thus those who continue, will get better providing something creative that is a sound business move. There is also such an emotional toll to the creative process. So many times I am emotionally connected and just finish what I am working on, so I can move on to learn something else

'To make myself a better person.'-so I tell myself.  I read the pages of a story, 2to1  I wrote when I stopped drinking. When I got sober.  In the story subplot,fictionalized, two lovers separated by hundreds of miles we were trying to harm one another by psychic warfare.  We had just cut each other on our hands. I was alone in my misery. You had a new man to console you. I read on and wonder, "Is this what you thought of me?" “My mother met a new man, Rob. She was about to take me with her. But he didn’t want to let me go. Told me we could have a life together. Told me we’d get a house. I never had a boy pay that much attention to me before. We were inseparable. I loved the attention at first. My mother and Rob moved up here. He and I remained there. He got a pizza delivery job. I didn’t work because by this point I was getting child support, 400 dollars a month, until age 21. We lived in this apartment. It had a single bedroom with a kitchen and den. Things wer

I imagine a beautiful woman’s comforting arms consoling me. Then it’s an angel with its feathers. This time is no different than the countless times before. I can’t resist the temptation to try to find a face-                    to the Angel-then here comes the skeletons- As I read another scene about us fighting each other psychically I realize now that I had associated death with love. I wonder if I still do. Thank the LohRd I am sober now; which gives me a chance to do the love thing right.  2 to 1 excerpt:                                                  The minutes pass an’ all I can do  is stare at my ceiling, think about her, and imagine these dots forming into abstract creatures. He sat right next to her, hoping that perhaps he could get lucky and cop a feel. She was silent as usual. “It was really nice of your parents to do all this for us. Don’t you think so?” Kathy remained silent. “Kathy? Kathy?” there was only one way she could free herself and th