90 / 180 / 365 days. One letter. No notifications.
No sterile AI lectures, just the romance of time.
Write a secret to your future self.
We promise to safely seal your memory and unlock it in your inbox at midnight,
after the days you've chosen.
— 01 —
Tap the wax to open. This is the exact email that will land in your inbox at midnight,
after the days you chose.
Your letter, one year ago
Tonight feels heavier than it should. I keep telling everyone I'm fine. I'm writing this because I need somewhere honest to put it. If you are reading this, please — be a little gentler with me than I was tonight.
— We do not analyse, score, or summarise your letter today.
— We do not send you reminders, nudges, or notifications.
— We seal your words, set a timer, and disappear from your life for 365 nights.
— 02 —
Write slowly. No one is rushing you here.
— 03 —
Three letters, unsealed.
The night-time, the morning-after,
and the countless yesterdays we gritted our teeth through.
— Oliver, to his best friend · London
A year ago, they wrote
I'm sealing this secretly for you, Liam. Tonight you said you're moving across the world for a new journey. You looked terrified. Honestly, I'm scared too — things change so fast. But wherever you are in one year, I hope you read this with a smile. We are still brothers.
Tonight, an old friend writes back
Liam. One year ago, Oliver sealed this promise in the dark. Time moved forward, and you crossed an ocean. Look at where you stand now. The fear you carried turned into the starting line of your finest chapter. Call him tonight; a year of waiting is over.
— Wing · Hong Kong
A year ago, they wrote
I cried for twenty minutes straight in the Tsim Sha Tsui MTR station today, and nobody noticed. I thought being an adult meant never breaking down like this. Tonight, I promise myself that on this exact day next year, I will remember how hard I fought through this moment.
Tonight, an old friend writes back
Dear Wing, a year ago on that platform, I stood right beside you — even if you couldn't see me. You believed adults were supposed to be strong, but adults are allowed to weep quietly in a subway station too. You did so well back then. Tonight, wherever you are, I hope you are sitting somewhere quiet and safe. Please give a gentle thank you to the version of you from a year ago — the one whose eyes were full of tears, yet carried on till the very end. The lightweight boat has crossed ten thousand mountains; you have done wonderfully.
— Elena, new mother · at the hospital
A year ago, they wrote
Today is your very first day in this world. Hearing your tiny yet fierce cry, and feeling your little fingers wrapped tightly around mine, every ounce of exhaustion dissolved into pure, overwhelming happiness. The room is filled with warm light, and I want to seal this exact moment forever. When you grow up and open this letter, I hope you know that from the very first second of your life, you have been the brightest gift we could ever receive.
Tonight, an old friend writes back
Elena. A year ago, in the quiet hum of the maternity ward, you sealed this small, luminous vow. Time did what time does — the tiny fingers grew stronger, the fierce little cry found language. Tonight, when you look at your child, look also at the woman who wrote this letter one year ago, dazed and radiant. She kept her promise. So did the light in the room. Welcome to the second first year.
— 04 —
It feels very different.
A letter hidden in your drawer is never truly forgotten. Every time you clean your room or open that drawer, your brain triggers that memory.
On day 365, you open it intentionally. It's a chore, not a miracle.
At MiProse, we safeguard your memory until you completely lose it to the chaos of daily life. Then, on a random midnight a year later when you least expect it, this letter suddenly knocks on your inbox — like an unexpected embrace from the past.
Most importantly, you are not talking to a wall. Alongside your raw words from a year ago, you will receive a profoundly warm, poetic reply from our AI Old Friend who has witnessed your journey and calls you by name. That feeling of 'the heavy ship has finally passed ten thousand mountains' is a sensation a dusty piece of paper in your drawer can never give you.
— 05 —
Everywhere you turn, an AI is ready to fix you. Summarise your day, optimise your sleep, rewrite your feelings into bullet points. We were tired.
MiProse is the opposite of that. Write something honest. Hand it to time. We will not touch it, score it, or learn from it. In a year, an old friend (yes, still an AI — but a quiet, literary one) will write you back. Just once.
