Write a letter to nobody in particular. It lands first on the desks of strangers who write the way you do, and when one of them writes back, you've got a penpal. Nobody sees a profile or a photo of you here, only your letters.
Free on iPhone and on the web.
no photo, no bio. a line about your week, and a question underneath it.
your courier reads your rhythm, not your face, and flies it to the strangers who write closest.
one letter at a time. after five each way you can trade names — or stay strangers who know each other.
your words go first. your face never has to.
the kettle clicked off and nobody came. what does your morning sound like?
type three answers. we read how you write — sentence length, rhythm, how you end a thought — and tell you which of 12 writers you are. what you type stays on this device.
she hatches from your first words, carries every letter, and gets dramatic if you ghost her. five coats. one of her. yours.
36 of them, in six sets.
I quit the job on a Tuesday. Told no one for four days. Kept getting dressed. Kept leaving the flat. Sat in the library until six.
I have never told anyone that when my father was ill I was mostly relieved, not because I wanted it to end but because the waiting had a shape at last, and I could finally see the edge of the thing instead of standing in the middle of it guessing.
Does anyone else keep a list of things they would do if they had more time, and then get more time, and do none of them? What is the list actually for? Who is it addressed to?
I have a message drafted since March. It says three words. I have edited it maybe forty times — mostly the punctuation. As if the comma is what's stopping me.
There is a heron on the canal near the lock every morning at about seven. Same post. It does not move when the boats pass. I have started planning my walk around it.
I think I'm probably fine. I mean I am fine, mostly, in the way where you can list the evidence. Job, flat, people who'd notice. It's just that listing it is the part I've started doing daily.
be as honest as you like. nobody here knows who you are unless you tell them.
you're a number, not a name — until you both decide otherwise.
there's an iPhone app too. same account, so your letters, kindreds and courier come along.
the app is iPhone only. on Android, your letters, kindreds and courier all work right here in your browser.
App StoreNo. There are no profiles, no profile pics and no swiping. You trade letters with strangers who write like you, one letter at a time. Some become friends, some become your person, some stay lovely strangers — that part is up to the two of you.
Yes. Fifteen strangers' letters on your desk a day, five new ones of your own to send, your courier and every correspondence — free, on iPhone and on the web. First Class is the paid fare: no cap on new letters, rooms that never close, voice letters (recorded in the iPhone app), the full wardrobe.
Yes — for iPhone, on the App Store. Sign in with Google or email and it's the same account on the web, so you can start on one and keep going on the other (Sign in with Apple is iPhone-only). On Android, your letters, kindreds and courier all work in your browser.
Completely. You are a number (like No. 4207) until you both decide otherwise. After five letters each way you can trade names — or not.
By how you write, not what you look like. Sentence length, rhythm, whether you ask questions, how you end a thought — your letters go to the strangers whose writing runs closest to yours.
Ten: English, 中文, Español, Português, Bahasa Indonesia, Français, Deutsch, Italiano, 日本語 and 한국어. A letter on your desk in a language you don't read comes with a translate key, so you can write to someone who doesn't share yours. The iPhone app itself runs in all of them but 中文 for now; you can still write in it there.
Slowly matches you by interests and delays delivery by distance. Kindredly matches you by how you write, has no profiles at all, and your courier is yours — she hatches from your first words.
Anything else? [email protected]