Send us five screenshots — your home screen, your screen time, your most played song, your camera roll, and the apps you hide. We'll read what your phone has been quietly saying about you. Specific. Strange. Unsettlingly accurate.
your lock screen is a photo of the sea at nightfall. you took it alone. you have not replaced it in seven months — which is how we know you are still standing on that beach, in your head, waiting for something that already left.
your most played song has four hundred and twelve plays. you did not pick it for the car. you picked it for the drive home — the one where no one is waiting.
From the moment you click buy to the letter landing in your inbox — here's exactly what happens.
Pick from The Glance, The Letter, or The Portrait. Pay securely by card or Apple Pay. Takes thirty seconds.
After checkout, you'll email us five screenshots: your home screen, screen time, most played song, camera roll grid, and the apps you keep in folders.
We sit with your screenshots. We decode what the patterns are quietly saying. Then we write your letter — specific, unsettling, yours alone.
A designed PDF in your inbox within twenty-four hours. Read it alone. Screenshot the line that hits. Keep it forever.
Five screenshots. Alone, each one says little. Together, they tell the truth.
your home screen is the first face you see each morning. the wallpaper, the apps on page one, the empty spaces — they are the room you walk into before the day begins.
screen time is a ledger. every hour inside one app is an hour you spent not feeling something you didn't want to feel yet. the numbers always tell the truth.
one song on repeat is never just a song. it's someone's ghost. the artist, the lyric, the hour you play it — we know the kind you're listening to.
your camera roll is a map of wanting. coffee. sunsets. reflections. strangers' dogs. the same thing photographed twenty times. it all means something. it usually does.
the apps you keep in folders or on your third page are the ones you can't stop opening. the hiding is the signal — it always has been.
This is what arrives in your inbox. Yours to keep, screenshot, or quietly delete.
your lock screen is a blurred photograph of a window. it looks like rain, but we think it is a curtain. either way — you are looking out, not in. the wallpaper on your phone is the view from a room you have not left in a while.
your screen time is nine hours and forty-one minutes a day. most of it between midnight and three in the morning. you are not a night owl. you are someone who cannot sleep next to yourself — so you stay awake, quietly, with the phone as company.
your home screen has spotify, notes, notion, instagram, and a journaling app. five apps. all of them ways to record yourself. you are documenting a version of you that no one is reading. we find that beautiful. we also find it a little sad.
your camera roll has one hundred and twenty photos of the sky. taken at different times, from different places, over many months. it is the same sky. you know this. you took them anyway. people who photograph the sky that often are usually looking for a sign.
your most played song is SAD! by XXXTENTACION. four hundred and eighty plays. you have not skipped it once. the song is about losing someone who is not yet gone. you are not grieving a person. you are grieving a version of yourself that does not exist anymore.
Same five screenshots. Different depths of reading. Pick how much you want to know.