Chapters
Sealed
Today
Everything saves itself. There is no save button.
The whole book
Chapters
Chapters are suggested quietly. You name them.

Chapters are not built yet. Entries you write today already accumulate on the server — sealed — and when quiet organising ships, this is where they'll gather themselves into named stretches of your life. Nothing will be written for you.

Open
Endednothing is ever deleted

Around this one
Look back
Things that rhyme with today

Resurfacing is not built yet. When it is, this screen will quietly hold entries from this day in other years, threads you keep returning to, and things you started and never finished. memtale will never send you a notification — it will just leave things out where you'll see them.

Years in
Writing this down
WHEN YOU WRITE
NO STREAKS HERE
EVERY DAY YOU'VE WRITTEN

Nothing to count yet. The days you write will fill this in on their own — from dates, never from content.

/

This searches the entries already decrypted on this device — nothing leaves it. Server-side search, over everything, arrives with the processing-grant index.

Settings
How memtale feels
Light or dark
Every pack below comes in both. Switch whenever.
Pack
A pair of palettes — one for daylight, one for the end of the night.
Reading
You'll be reading these for decades. Set them exactly how your eyes like them.
Last night in the old place. We ate takeaway off the floor with the plates already packed, and Nadia said it felt like camping in our own memory.
Size
Line height
Letter spacing
Line width
While you write
Quiet organising
Suggest chapters, titles and connections in the background. Never writes for you.
Attach the day around you
Place, weather, steps and sleep, saved with the entry. Never shown to anyone else.
Keep every draft
The sentence you deleted at 2am is sometimes the true one.
A nudge, not a notification
A single quiet mark in the tab when something's waiting in Look back. No badges, no streaks.
Letters to the future
Seal an entry until a date you choose
Not built yet — when it is, a sealed entry stays encrypted even from you until the morning it opens.
Sealed on this device
Every entry is encrypted here, before it goes anywhere, with a key derived from your passkey. The server stores ciphertext. memtale is open core: the format is plain, the reader is free, and you can walk out with all of it whenever you like.
The server is holding a pass right now
When you unlock, the server gets a bounded pass — index, search, read — so it can actually find things for you. This one expires at . Ending it purges the keys from the server; your own device keeps reading either way.
The server holds no pass
Its keys are purged. Nothing on the server can be read — including by us — until you hand it another pass. Search and resurfacing are asleep in the meantime; this device keeps reading on its own.
Devices
Take it with you
·
Recovery code
Unlock methods
/
↑↓ move⏎ openesc
memtale
Welcome back.
Your book is on this device, encrypted. Your passkey opens it — there's nothing to remember and nothing to type.
Touch ID, Windows Hello, or your phone.
or
No book yet?
Start your book.
No password. No email. A passkey on this device and a recovery code you write down — that's the whole account.
What should we call you?
It labels the passkey and nothing else — you can change what people see later.
Your device will ask for Touch ID. If it can't do passkeys, the recovery code becomes your only way in — we'll tell you if that happens.
Write this down. Now, on paper.
There is no reset. Nobody — not us, not you — can regenerate this code. If you lose your device and this code, the book is gone for good.
Type it back
Not a checkbox. You type it because "I've written it down" is something people tick while looking at something else.
Signed in · still locked
Hello. Now let's open it.
Signing in and unlocking are two different things. You're through the door; the book itself is still sealed, and nothing on the server can be read until you open it here.
When you unlock, memtale hands the server a 12-hour pass so it can index and find things for you. You'll always see when that pass is live, and you can end it at any time.
Your recovery code.
Twenty-seven characters, from the paper you wrote it on. Case doesn't matter; spaces don't either.
This takes a few seconds on purpose — the key is stretched 600,000 times so a stolen code is worth guessing at, not brute-forcing.
A book you keep for decades, and not one word of it readable by anyone but you.
Everything is sealed on this device before it goes anywhere. The server stores ciphertext and, when you let it, holds a temporary pass so it can help you find things. That pass is always visible and always yours to revoke.
memtale
Add a link
It goes into the text as Markdown, where you can move it.
How it felt
Not a score. Just a word, so a year from now you can find the days that felt like this one.
← heaviercalmer ↓lighter →