Ask Your Past

Storage was never the hard part

You already save things. A screenshot of a restaurant a friend swore by. A half-formed idea typed into a notes app at a traffic light. A link you meant to read. A decision you talked yourself into on a walk. The saving happens. It is the finding that fails — three apps, four folders, a search box that only matches words you no longer remember using.

A memory system is not valuable because it holds ten thousand things. It is valuable because it can return the one thing you need, from a question you'd ask a person: “what was that place Sarah recommended?” — not a filename, not a tag you'd have had to invent in advance.

Memory is built around that gap. Capture is made effortless so you actually do it. Organisation happens on its own. And retrieval — the part that usually breaks — is the part the product is really about.

You shouldn't have to remember where you put a memory. You should just be able to ask for it back.

The loop

Four beats. You only do the first one on purpose.

1. 01

   Capture

   Give Memory something — a note, a thought, a photo, a screenshot, a link, a voice memo, a document. No form to fill in, no folder to choose.

2. 02

   Understand

   Memory reads what you gave it and pulls out a title, a short summary, the type, the people, places and projects mentioned, the dates, and the topics. You don't classify anything.

3. 03

   Remember

   It becomes part of the archive — on your timeline, attached to the people and places it touches, linked to related memories. Every new memory adds context to the ones already there.

4. 04

   Recall

   Later, you ask. Memory writes a short answer from your own memories and lists the ones it used, so you can open the originals.

The loop compounds. The longer you use it, the more of your life it can answer for — and the better the connections between memories get.

Ask your past

Recall works in plain language. You ask the way you'd ask a friend who was there. Every answer is written from stored memories and grounded in the ones it used — and if the answer isn't in your memory, Memory says so rather than inventing one.

Connections form on their own

You never build a link by hand. When a memory mentions a person, place or project you've mentioned before, Memory connects them. Open a person and you see every memory they appear in, the places you've been together, the projects you share.

What Memory pulls out

For every memory, whether you typed a sentence or dropped in a screenshot, the same set of readings gets extracted — so the archive stays uniform no matter how the thing arrived.

Your memories belong to you

A personal archive only works if it's genuinely private, so Memory is built for that from the data model up: every memory is scoped to one account, with row-level isolation, private storage, and no public links — nothing is indexed or shared by default.

AI processing is kept narrow and legible. Answering a question sends the model your question and the few memories that matched it — never the whole archive. Capturing a memory sends only that one memory. There is a one-action export (JSON or Markdown) and a real delete. Memory doesn't make claims its infrastructure can't back up — no “military-grade” theatre, just isolation and controls you can actually use.

What it is not

• Not a notes app — you're not meant to file, foldered and tidy, and come back to organise.
• Not a chatbot — it only answers about your life, from your memories, and admits when it can't.
• Not a productivity dashboard — no streaks, no scores, no nudges to open the app.
• Not a social network — there is no feed and no one else in it.
• Not a system of record you have to feed — if capture is effort, it has already failed.

What it is: a place where your own history is searchable by meaning, and answerable by question.

Who it's for

Anyone who has thought “I know I saved that somewhere.” People with ideas scattered across three apps who want them in one place that connects them. Anyone building something over months who wants to ask their past self what they were thinking in March. And anyone who has felt the small grief of a good thought lost because there was nowhere obvious to put it.