What would you tell her at 20?
You’re not too much. They were too little.
Why I made this.
Let’s be honest with each other, even if it’s a tough way to open. The people we love won’t be here forever. Neither will we. You already know this — we just never say it.
Did you ever notice what happens when we lose someone? The internet fills up with the most beautiful words anyone has ever written about them. Specific, honest, the kind you read twice. And all of it arrives at once, all of it too late. I could not get past the obvious question: did anyone ever say this to them out loud, while they could still hear it? Probably not. We save our best words for the one moment they cannot land.
And it isn’t only about the end. Once I saw it, I saw it everywhere — on birthdays, at weddings, in the week somebody’s world quietly falls apart. Three things about it kept bothering me.
Too late.
The best words about someone almost always arrive when they can’t hear them any more. I wanted the opposite: a way to hand someone everything people feel about them while they are still here to be completely embarrassed by it.
What have you never told them you noticed?
All at once.
The one day we do say it, we dump it. Forty messages on your birthday, scrolled like a feed between breakfast and bed. The best line of your life goes past at speed. What if we spread them out? One now, one in four months, one on a grey Tuesday when you needed it and nobody knew. Same words. Room to breathe. Suddenly they land.
Too easy.
Happy birthday, you’re amazing, love you. Everyone means it. Nobody remembers it. So what if we ask something real instead? How you two met, the thing you noticed and never mentioned, what you still thank them for in your head. Two minutes later there’s a story their own family has never heard.
Oh no. I have an actual story for this one.
Told the airport one. Sorry in advance.
That’s Lovedrop.
No feed, no likes, nothing to count. Just everyone who loves someone, saying it properly, arriving when you least expect it.
— Temo