You write it here. We print it within a day, seal it, and file it by month in a metal cabinet on Wyandotte. Twelve months later it arrives in your post, on an ordinary weekday, in a stack of bills. $9 including postage. The first one is free.
Any length. The median is about four hundred words, and most people write past the point where they meant to stop.
On paper, sealed, in a drawer marked with the month it goes out. Physically. Nothing sits on a server overnight.
First class, no return address on the front, no reminder email beforehand. You will have forgotten, which is the entire mechanism.
Four drawers, one per quarter, in the back of a shared studio on Wyandotte. When a month comes up, someone takes that drawer to the post office on 18th and mails it. That is the whole operation and we do not intend to grow it.
Occasionally somebody writes to us after theirs arrives. We keep those with permission and we do not edit them.
I wrote mine three days after losing a job and spent the year assuming it would be unbearable to read. It arrived and I had to sit down, because the person who wrote it was so much more frightened than the situation turned out to deserve.
R., Springfield, February 2026
Nothing in mine had come true and nothing in it had gone wrong either. It was just a Tuesday described very carefully by somebody who thought it mattered. It did matter. I had forgotten all of it.
Ana O., Kansas City, April 2026
| First letter | Free, postage included |
|---|---|
| After that | $9 each, postage included |
| Held for | 12 months, to the week |
| Copies kept | None |