Hello, I love you, won’t you tell me your name?

please send me an email this week or next. i just would love to know the pretty faces that are reading me.



dear you,

It feels like I can hear the slow snickering of Fall creeping up around the walls of this little coffee shop. The steamed milk in my coffee has settled. The sun decided not to come out today. And always, when I am here in this one spot with the slow classical music getting stuck in my hair, I feel like the kind of writer they put on movie screens. A curious observer in a bright red hat, curled in the corner listening to a symphony of long drawn out orders of espresso and cappuccino. I am the quietest fly on the walls of other people’s memories. That’s how I’ve always been. I’ll sew every person in this coffee shop to the sleeves of my love stories by noontime.

But I’m thinking about you. You, the one reading this off of your iPhone. You, the one finding me sitting square in your email box on a Tuesday or a Friday. There are some days I can’t stop thinking about the places you’ve been and the people you’ve met. It’s like this blog is my form of letter writing and I sometimes find myself standing by the mailbox, waiting for you to write back. I think about what you need to hear. I think about what we both need to learn. I think about both our paths, how maybe they have never met but it still doesn’t stop me from wanting the world for you. All the stars. All the droplets of oceans.

This letter is simple. I just wanted to ask a favor of you. Something I’ve never asked before. Would you tell me who you are? Would you send me an email and tell me who you are? I sit here weekly, tapping these little keys of mine with the hope that something I write will touch you. And I hear from you sometimes. But I want to know who is out there. Who is reading me from the glow of their screen. Who is sticking my words on the walls of their cubicles. I wonder about you probably more than you’ll ever know. The things you’ve seen. The damage you’ve known. The lives you’ve touched. The things you tell no one, because you are just so afraid that the world will shut you down for ever dreaming that way.

Please write to me. Today. Tomorrow. This weekend. Next week. Just a simple email to let me know you are out there. Your name. Where you first found me. The ways you want to start over fresh tomorrow. The dreams you hold in clenched fists. And if, and if, there is anything you need me to include in my nighttime prayers. I would be honored to meet you in this way.

Tell me anything. Everything. Two sentences or ten. I promise I will read them all. I just need to know who’s out there today.


My email is Hannah.Brencher@gmail.com or, to make life easier, you can fill out the form below and it will land right in my hands when you click send.

9 thoughts on “Hello, I love you, won’t you tell me your name?

  1. Hi Hannah!

    It’s Johnny, I’ve messages once before and you got back to me so you may know me a little haha. I’m still reading you. I first heard you on Ted talks 🙂 I’m on my break at work, in my car reading on my iphone haha. I’m a social worker and just started working on the psychiatry unit at the hospital here. Did you have a fun summer??


    Sent from my iPhone

  2. I found you on a piece of paper a friend printed out and handed to me. I own a little music venue in Columbus, Ohio and your words inspire me daily. My name is Natalie but I go by Tawanda (Kathy Bates in fried green tomatoes)Your words make me think in ways I wouldn’t normally do so and for that I will always be thankful. Today upon opening my email I had not only yours but an email from a great friend of mine (a nomad if you will). Her email involved a story about travel and how when you leave you are vacating your life. People around you adjust and live their lives without you there. Upon return you are smacked in the face with the realization that people, love, and life continue on in your absence. And that realization can sometimes be painful. It doesn’t necessarily have to be travel, but moving away. You try your best to keep in touch but eventually other friends are made, memories fade and returning for visits just isn’t the same. So here I am in Columbus, Ohio thinking about all of these great people I left in the big apple who are barely a part of my life anymore and for the first time really comprehending the real pain of leaving. For some reason I felt you would be the only one who could listen to my thoughts at this moment so, run on sentences and bad punctuation aside I wanted to Thank You Hannah, for your words, and your messages. As corny as it sounds you constantly put a smile on my face and I will continue to keep your words close to my heart.

    1. As one born in Michigan, raised in the Netherlands, educated in Searcy, Arkansas, married in Memphis, Tennessee, moved to Hillsboro, Texas, then Brewster and Carmel, New York then Waco, Elm Mott, and now Lubbock, texas. Twanda/Natalie, I know your words ” the real pain of leaving.” At times it is hard to find Me because so many pieces have been left behind along the way. Many piece picked up too. To fit it all into a whole me requires time, intentionality and a giving up -that is hard to find in our world of business
      . Greetings from Lubbock. Sp

  3. Hi someone posted 25 things every woman should know on facebook. It was nice just read your blog. Going through somethings in at work and in my personal life. Not sure what the next step is

  4. Hello Hannah…

    I’m in my bed, it’s just past 6am and I gave up on falling asleep several hours ago. I stumbled upon your blog after aimlessly clicking on Instagram hashtags in an effort to keep my mind occupied. But lately, nothing seems to stop my mind from drifting back to my Dad. He’s in the hospital for the umpteenth time since his Stage 4 cancer diagnosis last year. My heart is breaking for him… and for my family… and my mind is so tired…

    And then clicked on #hotlanta (where I reside) and scrolled through pictures, randomly clicked one that led me to your Instagram pics, then to your blog… and before I knew it, two hours had passed. It was exactly what I needed to find tonight (wait, its morning). I’m in awe of your talent and dumbfounded by the fact that you’re only 25 (I did read that correctly, right?).

    Thank you for my two hour mental escape. You’ve certainly gained a new follower & I’m looking forward to your book.


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