Ghosts of words that were left unsent haunt the simple interface of the #unsentproject website archive. The original aim of the project was to determine what colour people see love in. Simple in its concept, it allows users to anonymously submit a message directed to their first loves. Whether that recipient is interpreted as the one that got away, a fizzled out friendship, or perhaps a subject of secret admiration, the website provides a cathartic outlet for those who need it.
The Unsent Project has existed since 2015, but it only came to my attention when a post about it appeared on my Instagram page. Intrigued by the jarring brat-core graphics contrasted with raw emotive confessions, I looked the website up. Upon further inspection, I found the archive where you could either filter messages by the color associated with them or by typing key words through the search bar. Bingo.
Naturally, I had to search up my own namesakes. Scrolling through the endless tides of virtual letters addressed to Julias from across the globe filled my screen with a mosaic of multicoloured rectangles, each colour-coded to reflect the emotions it emulated. If, like me, you are gifted with a relatively common name, the likelihood of finding something addressed to you is quite low. But never zero. “what if there is some long-lost love letter addressed to me that has vanished in the jungle of the interweb?”, I ponder sardonically.
Through this perusal, I realised that the idea of the unspoken terrifies me. Knowing that there is some potential for reconnection halted by things left unsaid — our innately human fear of rejection or, perhaps even worse, of indifference — stops us from communicating the depth of our desires. I wonder how many alternative timelines would transpire or how many what-ifs would come to fruition if only the person questioning their emotions had the courage to press send.
Through a simple method of deduction, I determined that none of the messages were directed to me (at least until September 2024; perhaps there is some hidden love letter if I scroll earlier back). Yet, skimming through messages of regret, unrequited longing, loneliness, closure, forgiveness, I was struck by the commonality between all these intrinsically human emotions that reverberated throughout. Despite our flaws, caused by miscommunication, confusion, or a lack of intentionality, we crave feelings of acceptance and affection. The moment we sabotage those, regret seeps in. But for some people, it takes a while longer to acknowledge that regret.
While I appreciate the intent of the Unsent Project, I can’t help but wonder if it creates a false sense of hope for the users submitting their recollections. While I’m sure it provides a platform for venting unsaid emotions, the mere fact that the only “searchable” feature is the name of the addressee leads me to believe that the main reasons for public submissions are twofold: a feeling hope that the recipient will continually search for themselves on the platform or a yearning for a former relationship to reenter one’s life. Either way, they rely on a lack of closure from at least one of the parties involved.
Controversially, I would advocate for sending that message. If it’s not written in the private sphere of your journal or notes app, is there some small part of you that is hoping the recipient will search it up? While that outcome is highly unlikely through #unsentproject, the finger hovering over the paper plane icon still has the power to determine your path. Or in a less-desirable outcome, at least it will provide answers to unanswerable questions and stop you from falling down the rabbit hole of “would’ve, could’ve, should’ve’s.”
Illustration by Julia Twardzisz