about unsaid

Standing room only. Like Sunday mass.

I was sixteen when I stood in a church full of people at my father's funeral.

I remember thinking two things. That I wanted to live a life that filled a room like that. And that I wondered if he ever knew people felt this way about him, all along.

The words almost always show up after someone's gone. For the one person who can't hear them anymore.

unsaid exists to move them earlier.

It's a place to say the things you'd say in a eulogy (to a parent, a mentor, a teacher, a friend) while they can still hear it. Answer a few short questions. Your own words, not AI's, become a letter. Don't write well. Just write true.

There's no account to make and nothing to buy. Just a way to say something that matters, to someone who matters, before you have to write it down for people who already know.

If unsaid ever helps you say something you would have otherwise kept in, it's done its job.

Dionne, founder