Write a letter all month long. Dispatch it when the dispatch window opens and the moon delivers it when it's full. Sealed on your device, postmarked at the full moon. One letter each, back and forth, every moon. No feed. No read receipts. No rush. PS: We can't read your letters.
Hi Product Hunt. Here's what's true about LoveLink, and it's a setting we can't toggle.
We cannot read your letters. There are two people who will ever read one: the person who wrote it and the person it was written for. Your letter is sealed on your own device with a key derived from your password, and what reaches our servers is unreadable text with no key beside it. We hold half. The other half cannot be computed from the half we hold.
Now the part that will annoy some. There is no password reset. Lose it and your letters are gone, unless you kept the recovery code we show you once. We know how that feels. But if we could reset your password, we could read your letters.
The rest is astronomy. There's a drafting room with three pages — one letter and two backups. Write every night. Send once a month: the dispatch window opens at the new moon and closes when the moon is half-lit on the way up. About seven days out of twenty-nine. Right now it's shut. The letters already in the air get postmarked by the full moon tomorrow night and come down into someone's hands. That's the first thing this product will ever do in public: deliver.
Hi Product Hunt. Here's what's true about LoveLink, and it's a setting we can't toggle.
We cannot read your letters.
There are two people who will ever read one: the person who wrote it and the person it was written for. Your letter is sealed on your own device with a key derived from your password, and what reaches our servers is unreadable text with no key beside it. We hold half. The other half cannot be computed from the half we hold.
Now the part that will annoy some. There is no password reset.
Lose it and your letters are gone, unless you kept the recovery code we show you once. We know how that feels. But if we could reset your password, we could read your letters.
The rest is astronomy.
There's a drafting room with three pages — one letter and two backups. Write every night. Send once a month: the dispatch window opens at the new moon and closes when the moon is half-lit on the way up. About seven days out of twenty-nine. Right now it's shut. The letters already in the air get postmarked by the full moon tomorrow night and come down into someone's hands. That's the first thing this product will ever do in public: deliver.
Tonight: claim your handle — @yourname is gone the moment somebody takes it, and there are no reservations. https://lovelink.to/signup
Claiming your handle and receiving letters on loveLINK is completely free.
Dispatching letters costs one shilling.