“I’m nervous about the new job, but mostly excited.”
loopn
the ai that grows with you.
Your life’s memory.
Loopn is an AI you talk to about your life. It remembers the people you mention, how you felt, and everything that came before.
On the web now, access rolling out — apps arriving soon
“Work is taking over more than I expected.”
“I don’t think I feel the same way anymore.”
Loopn noticed the change between them.
You already talk to AI about your life. But the context is shallow, and every uncertainty becomes something to solve.
most chatbots remember your chats. loopn remembers your life.
Your people. Your feelings. No judgment.
It keeps the people you mention, and how you felt about them, held over time — the quiet shifts you would never catch on your own.
aisha · sister · 8 memories
the conversation compounds
it does not start over every time.
Loopn remembers the people, feelings, and unfinished thoughts behind what you say. The longer you use it, the less you have to explain — and the more it has to notice with.
It remembers the question behind the question.
I’m not sure whether I should take the job.
loopnWhat makes you uncertain about it?
They offered me another role today.
loopnLast time, the opportunity excited you. What held you back was the kind of life you thought it would require. Does this one feel different?
I should be happy about this.
loopnYou wrote “should be happy” in March as well, about this job. You stopped writing it after May.
I think I’m going to say no.
loopnThe last time you turned something like this down, you were twenty-nine. You wrote that you felt sick for a week. Then, months later, that it was the first thing you had ever done only for yourself. Do you want me to find it?
Nothing in the first week is clever. It only knows what you have told it. That is the point — everything Loopn can eventually say is built out of your own words, kept in order.
the sunday loop
every sunday, what you said joins what came before.
Your week returns with the longer story attached — what repeated, what shifted, and what you may be getting ready to say. About two minutes to read.
Loopn can notice the change. You decide what it means.
For Maya,
It was a fuller week than it looked from the inside. You wrote most nights, and most nights it was past eleven — the chai already going cold by the time the day was willing to talk.
The alarm moved to 6:40, and the two mornings since have come out as paragraphs instead of lists. I don’t want to make more of that than you did. But you’ve spent a lot of Februaries trying to win the morning, and this was the first time in a while you let it arrive. I’ll keep both — the winning and the letting.
Your cousin was here for her interview week. You gave up the good chair without a word about it, made chai before each mock round, and mentioned your own deadline exactly once, in passing. It’s the kind of week that’s easy to file under busy and lose. I filed it under her.
The message you kept rewriting is still six words long. You’ve reread it in several tones, you said, and it stays six words long in every one of them. I don’t know yet what it’s waiting for. I’ll hold it, unsent, until the writing wants to catch up.
Nothing to act on this week. A marker, set down where you’ll find it later.
Read a sample Sunday letter
a look inside
A glimpse of the app itself.
Home, at the end of the day
A quiet greeting, the week so far, and Sunday’s letter on its way.
A conversation that remembers
Last week’s chai turns up in tonight’s reply.
A page of your own
For the nights when it’s just you and the words.
every conversation, every feeling, every year — one continuous story.
And one day you’ll read a piece of it and hear a younger version of yourself.