If It Means A Lot To You... (Frerard)

Two year anniversary (probably)

I bet y'all are just so sick of me adding announcements after this story is fucking over but I'm doing it again so fuck you.

Anyways, I'm in High School now TM and this story embodies all of my shame and regret throughout the entirety of my seventh grade year. Yes that's right, this flaming pile of shit was written by a twelve-year-old. What a shocker. Looking back at it now, it seems more like it was written by a fourth grader who accidentally opened her mom's copy of fifty shades of grey.

Y'all may hate me for this, but I'm just going to say that if you actually enjoyed reading this, then there's probably something wrong with your brain. Seriously did you really take the time to read every. single. word of this fifty-something chapter disaster(haha sick rhymes)??? Because honestly, there are absolutely zero good aspects of this story, like at all.

I know you are probably wondering why I chose to write this personal reflection. The answer is: I just wanted all the people who have this in their library still to know how I feel now. I want you all to know that I have grown as a person and a writer, and that this, by no means, is not an accurate portrayal of my skill.

I apologize for making you read this, but oh well. Hopefully some other people who read this at the time it was created feel the same. And if you read this entire story, and you are under thirteen, I'm going to have to ask you to pick up the Bible nearest to you.

Thanks, I still love you, even though the previous paragraphs may contradict that statement. I still appreciate that all the people who commented took the time to tell me what they liked about the story, it really meant a lot to me when I was younger. (P.S, I still read all of the comments on this story, so feel free to say hi!)

Love,
Emma

(P.P.S, all the names signed on this story are all fake, my real name is in fact Emma. I was going through a phase. (If you've been through it you understand))

:-)