The Society of Lost Letters
Archivum Amorium · Est. Unknown
My dearest kindred soul,
If you are reading this, then something—fate, perhaps—has led you here.
To me.
To the letters.
To the Society that was never meant to be found.
I have been the Keeper of these words for some time now. Not by title, but by accident. A chance discovery, one rainy afternoon in a forgotten corner of the world, changed everything. I opened a drawer that should have been empty… and found a single folded letter.
The ink was faded. The paper soft, worn thin at the folds.
It read:
“If this reaches you, it means I never had the courage to say goodbye.”
I still don’t know who wrote it. But I know how it made me feel.
Since that day, the letters have continued to find me.
Some arrive by post, without return address.
Others are slipped into secondhand books, or left behind in old houses.
And some… appear without explanation at all.
They are written by those who dared to love, but never found the words.
By women who were silenced.
By soldiers who vanished.
By lovers who never returned.
And by those who left something unfinished—buried beneath floorboards or locked behind ribs.
The Society was not founded. It was whispered into being.
We exist to protect what was forgotten.
To honor what was lost.
To preserve love in its rawest, most tender form:
unsent.
unspoken.
unfinished.
And now, I have decided to share these letters. Not because they are mine—none of them are—but because I believe they are ours.
If your heart has ever ached with something left unsaid…
If you’ve ever wondered what might have been…
If you believe that love can echo across time…
Then you are one of us.
In the coming days, you will receive your first letter from the archives.
Some will arrive quietly, like a breath on the back of your neck.
Others may feel as if they were written to you.
Perhaps they were.
Some you will not be ready for.
Some you will read twice.
And some will haunt you sweetly, long after the ink has faded.
This is not just a collection of words.
This is an invitation.
To remember.
To feel.
To speak, even when no one is listening.
To become part of something older than history, and softer than silence.
You have found us.
Or perhaps…
we have found you.
With ink-stained fingers and a heart full of sunshine,
I remain,
Yours in remembrance and devotion,
April Marie Light
Keeper of the Society of Lost Letters