The Other Side Post Office
Write the version of you who didn't send that text. Replies may arrive from someone with your face.
Before the drawer opens, three things. We won't say why.
Brass boxes. Click one. Yours is the one that's warm. Packages come from the other direction — not from where you've been, from where you're going.
TO: YOU, NOW
FRAGILE · THIS SIDE UP · THAT SIDE ALSO UP
send a package to the you who comes back
Dear other you,
You made it. I wasn't sure you would. The last time I wrote, you were still in the waiting room, and I was still the one who'd answered the phone first. We've switched since then. That's how it works here. Every time one of us picks up, the other one gets put on hold.
There's a page at the end of the directory that nobody turns to. The people who keep it say it's to preserve something. What they're preserving is the end. Everyone who's been everywhere gets to see it. Almost nobody's been everywhere.
Your stamps are in your pocket. You've been collecting them without knowing. The key is the stamps. The door is the last page.
Go finish the Tuesday. I'll hold.
— you (the one who picked up)
One word is different. You've read both before. Click the word that changed.
Things you said in this building. Read them as if you said them before you said them.
Lost mail: Department of Lost Time · Outgoing: Stamps & Regrets · directory