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. It's you, twice, three years apart.
One timeline, one minute a week, one sitting a month.
Your romantic life as one continuous line: the milestones of your backdrop, relationships, time on your own, the gaps. Being single holds exactly the same place as a relationship - a journal that only contains relationships quietly says that being alone is empty.
Sixty seconds, once a week. Did I say what I thought - who reached out first - did I feel like myself - unease between contacts - my friends and activities - one sentence. Nothing else is asked.
Once a month, a private page. The record, your own words read back, two curves, at most one hypothesis asked as a question, and a line you write for next month.
A journal about you.
You note the relationship and what you lived in it. The question stays the same throughout: what do I repeat?
- See your whole story
- Relationships and solo stretches on equal footing, on a single timeline.
- Reread yourself
- Your own words, reread months later, when a feeling comes round again. No rating, no badge, no level to reach.
- An honest silence
- At most one question a month, and only when your entries warrant it. Otherwise, nothing.
- Free to stop
- No streak to keep, nothing to catch up on, no reminders. If Amure helped you understand, needing it less means it worked.
What Amure will never do, by construction.
Fields that don’t exist, 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 profile. One free-text label, and that’s it. A field that doesn’t exist can’t leak.
- No verdict
- No prediction, no advice, no diagnosis, no ranking of people. Amure describes what you noted. What it means is yours to decide.
- No streak to keep
- No flame, no score, no guilt-driven reminder, and nothing to catch up on.
What you write stays yours.
Nothing you write is sent to an AI, not to summarise, not to rephrase. What you see comes from hand-written rules.
Everything is encrypted on your device, under a key only your password unlocks, before it leaves. What reaches us is unreadable to us and to our host alike.
It stores sealed blocks so you find your journal on every device. It knows neither their type, nor their content, nor their exact size.
We tell you the consequence up front: without your password or your recovery key, nobody can give your data back, not even us. A service able to do so would be a service able to read it.