Hello, lovies. I made a chair for you.

This is my letterbox—a quiet place where you can write to me the way you’d lean across a small table. Not a performance, not a shout across a crowd—just you and me, trading breath and words.

What you can send:

• – A story you can’t shake.
• – A question about a song or the life around it.
• – A feeling that needs a witness.
• – A tiny thing you noticed and don’t want to lose.

How I’ll hold it:

• – I read with my whole chest and answer with care. I’ll do my best to respond within 24 hours. Sometimes it might take a little longer—life and touring and the work of making—but I won’t rush a heart just to be fast.
• – Your letter stays in good hands. I treat it like a confidence. If I ever want to share a line that could help someone else feel less alone, I’ll do it without names or details—or I’ll ask you first.

Our gentle house rules (so we can keep this a warm room):

– Respect, always. I’ll be kind with you; please be kind with me (and with anyone mentioned in your note).

– No marketing, spam, sales, links. They will be ignored and I will not reply to them.
– No trolling, harassment, or vulgarity. I won’t engage with rude or dehumanizing messages; they’ll be quietly ignored and deleted.
– Boundaries are care. I can’t offer medical, legal, or crisis counseling. If you’re in danger or deep distress, please reach out to local support right away—you deserve immediate, human help.

What helps me write you back well:

– Specifics. A small detail (the color of the sky when it broke, the song you had on) helps me meet you where you are.
– A question, if you have one. “What do I do with this?” or “Have you ever felt…?” opens a door.
– Patience. I’ll answer with intention, not autopilot. If I’m late, I’m still coming.

If you’re not sure how to start, try one of these:
– I heard [song] on a day when…
– I’m trying to be honest about…
– What do you do when the voice in your head says…
– I haven’t told anyone this yet, but…

Thank you for trusting me with your words. I’ll keep the kettle on and the light low. When you’re ready, slide your letter under the door—I’ll be there on the other side, pen in hand.

With love,
Lila

P.S. If you’re here from “Could I Be Real,” I’m especially glad you came. That song was my dare to be seen. Your letters are how we keep that bravery alive—together.