Letters to Nowhere

There was a mailbox at the end of the world. No road led to it. No house stood nearby. At high tide, the ocean swallowed its post, and by morning the sand around it was always covered in letters. She came every Sunday to collect them. Some were stained with salt. Some had no stamps. Some were written in handwriting she recognized from people long gone. She never opened those. Never. Until one morning, she found an envelope addressed in her own hand.