Amure
written three weeks ago · read again this morning

i think i stopped saying what i actually thought around the fourth month — and it wasn't the first time.

Amure keeps what you felt, once a week, sixty seconds. It shows it back to you when it comes round again. This isn't analysis: it's you, twice, three years apart.

one address, one email · not open yet
the same feeling twice, on two relationships nothing connected
2012
2014
2016
2018
2020
2022
2024
2026
month 4
month 4
three objects, that’s all

One timeline, one minute a week, one sitting a month.

01
The timeline

Your romantic life as a single continuous line: relationships, time on your own, and the gaps. Being single holds exactly the same weight as a relationship — a journal that only contains partners quietly says that being alone is empty.

02
The sixty-second check-in

Six questions, once a week. Did I say what I thought · who reached out first · did I feel like myself · unease between contacts · my friends and my activities · one sentence. Nothing else is ever asked.

03
The monthly sitting

Ten private minutes. The record, your own words read back, two curves, one hypothesis asked as a question, and a line you write yourself for the month ahead.

see how it unfolds
the closed doors

What Amure will never do, by construction.

These aren’t terms-of-service promises: they are fields that don’t exist, servers that receive nothing, and code we couldn’t write without breaking the product.

No names
There is no field to identify anyone but you: no name, no photo, no contact, no social handle. One free-text label, and that’s it. A field that doesn’t exist can’t leak.
No server that can read
Your account lives with us; your journal never does in the clear. What goes up is an encrypted block whose key never leaves your browser — we cannot open it, so there is nothing to ask us for.
No AI on your writing
No language model reads what you write. Observations come from hand-written, versioned rules that can point at the exact entries behind them.
No streaks
No flame, no run to protect, no progress bar counting relationships. A streak pushes you to write fast and false — and would break at the worst possible moment.
What protects you is never paid
Pause mode, the sensitive flag, help resources, export: free, unconditionally, forever. An expired licence blocks nothing — not reading, not writing, not export.