aMemory keeps the moments you'd hate to lose — the trip, the recipe, the thing Dad said — as beautiful pages your whole life links together. You just talk. Your Librarian does the keeping.
Two tins of tomatoes, crushed by hand — never a blender. The garlic waits until the onions go quiet. Basil goes in off the heat, torn, right at the end. She says the pot knows when you rush it.
No folders, no filing, no blank page. Say what happened — your Librarian turns it into a page and puts it where it belongs.
Speak it or type it, in your own words. Adding a photo happens when you ask — and only when you ask.
Two wobbles, one triumphant lap of the cul-de-sac, and a grin for the ages. Nobody let go — she just went.
Titled, dated, and linked to the people and places it belongs with. Every memory becomes part of one connected story — yours.
The pages are just there, the way you left them — on the couch, together, years later. Answers come back as your pages, never a wall of chat.
Photos hold the moment. Your Librarian keeps the story around it — who was there, what was said, why it mattered. And some memories deserve their own voice: keep a short recording right inside the page.
The free tier lives on your iPhone — syncing through your own iCloud is coming soon. Your memory library never lives on our servers — we couldn’t read it if we wanted to. Chat with your Librarian and your words are processed in the moment, answered, and never kept.
Share a memory and people see the moment you shared — never your ongoing edits. Every share is one you explicitly approve.
Memories are plain, portable pages. Export all of them whenever you like — they’re yours to keep, with or without us.
Real screens from the iPhone app in testing today — the shelf of your life's domains, a kept memory, the map that links everything, and the Librarian doing the keeping.
aMemory is in the making. Leave your email and we’ll write when it’s ready — that’s the only thing we’ll ever send.
