All the Formats

It's simple, it's nice

You pick a format, you fill in a small form, it becomes something beautiful for the person who opens it. That's the whole gesture, start to finish. No technical layers, no fiddling. You write a few words, you drop in a photo, you record your voice, and on the other side, your person receives a moment we've cared for so it feels made for them.

Eleven ways of going about it, to mix however you like. There's no right formula, only yours.

Text, just the words

A text field, you type. That's it. A few words, a thought from this morning, a shared memory, a reason to smile. Your person opens the day, the words are there, sitting plainly, with no effect, going straight to the heart.

This is the format for days when you don't need a setting. Just the right words, in the Dawn typography that gives them weight.

Photo, full size

You drop in an image, you add a caption if you want. You can also write a small note before and another after, to tell what's behind the photo. Your person opens the day, the image fills the screen, calm, set down like in an album.

For memories that come down to a single image. The market square in Lisbon, your dog asleep in a curl, the strange sky one August evening.

Gallery, several together

You drop several photos at once. They arrange themselves in a grid, two columns, clean. One click to enlarge, arrows to move between them.

For days that don't fit into a single image. A weekend, a night out, a trip, or simply all the photos you couldn't bring yourself to choose between.

Slider, page by page

A slideshow. You pick your photos in order, you can put a caption on each one. Your person scrolls at their own pace, photo after photo, the way you turn the pages of a small book.

Ideal for telling a chronology. A day in eight images, the evolution of a project, your story in a few steps.

Polaroid, white frame

You upload your photos, we take care of the rest. Thick white frame, slight rotation, handwritten caption underneath. It feels like the album left open on the coffee table, the memory that's been around.

For days that deserve a bit of soul. Photos that are already memories, the ones that look old before they're even printed.

Video, in motion

You paste a YouTube, TikTok, Instagram Reel, or Vimeo link, or you upload your own video. It loads inside a careful frame, with your word before and your word after if you want to set the scene.

A filmed message, a montage of your moments, a song that makes you think of them, a scene that says it all. For what deserves to move.

Playlist, the soundtrack

You paste a Spotify link, that's it. A song, a whole album, a playlist you put together for the occasion. It embeds cleanly into the day, native player, cover art, everything's there.

Music has that slightly magic power to bring memories back without warning. Use it, put on the song that was playing in the car that night.

Voice, your voice

You click, you record, it's in the calendar. Your voice, set down, no pressure. On opening, the waveform animates to the rhythm of your words, just for the pleasure of watching while listening.

More intimate than a text, less exposed than a video. For the "I love you" that comes out better out loud, the little stories you tell better than you write.

Story, that scrolls by

Several slides that scroll like an Instagram story. Photos or videos, swipe navigation, a Ken Burns effect that softly animates the images. You fill each slide one by one, at your pace.

Perfect for telling a day in several beats. The morning, the noon, the evening. A small story inside the story, watched in one go.

Letter, the cinematic one

You write your text. You can add a header ("My love,"), a closing line, your signature. Or just the body, that works too.

On opening, the paper sets down on the table, slightly at an angle. The first letter writes itself in large italic, like an old drop cap. Then the words come one by one, the ink lets a few grains rise above the stroke, the commas let the sentence breathe, the periods leave a silence. At the end, your signature tilts, a wax seal sets down at the bottom, a little heart starts to beat inside it.

To keep for days that carry weight. The birthday note, the declaration, the thank-you that needed time, the apology you couldn't get out.

Interaction, that answers back

You ask a question, your person answers from the calendar. Their answer comes back to you, you keep it together. "What's your favorite memory of us?" "What's making you smile right now?" "If you could live one day again, which one would it be?"

The calendar becomes a conversation. Not a monologue you offer, an exchange that builds itself day after day.

Mix them however you like

Eleven formats, that many combinations. A 100% photo calendar for those who think in images. A calendar of letters for evenings that deserve paper. A mix of everything for the undecided. Or something nobody's tried yet.

You fill it in as it comes to you, day after day. It's your story, tell it your way.