Hangovers abound, so it’s mine and mine alone.I stay in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling, my mind blank. Empty. That sounds depressing, but it’s not. Sometimes you can think too much. I actually made myself sick the first three days after because I had thoughts bigger than the space that contained them and too many of them were happening at once. Sometimes the quiet is good. Most times not, but just for now, in this tiny moment where the sun is edging up the sky, it’s okay.And then I get out of bed.I get out of bed and I get dressed.I get out of bed and I get dressed and I go downstairs and I find a piece of blank paper and I fold it into a card. I stare at the empty space inside of it for a long time.I grab a pen.I’m sorry for your loss.Eddie Reeves.I hate when people say that to me, but this feels different because I’m the one writing it. It’s more important. I want him to know it’s not just me, that I know he must be in pain too.That I understand.I find Culler’s address on the envelope he sent us.
