I closed the laptop. Outside, the real ocean was already turning the same gray as that page.
The page loaded slowly, line by line, as if remembering itself. No images. No logos. Just a single, pale-gray field of text: "You have reached the last inbox before the ocean." Below that, a counter: First message dated: April 14, 1996.
I pressed Enter.
I clicked the oldest.
“To delete your account, type your first memory.”