LoveMegan4Ever

Gurl. Just read your description. Wdym you don't write happy endings?? . Ik they end bad but the u make a second one and it ends worse but does it never get better?? Also you wrote Swed not Swede unless I'm wrong. Idk ‍♀️‍♀️

Just published a new story!! Go read it!! And tell me what you think!!

Why does everyone think that since you’re Swedish you must like meatballs( which I do but that’s not the point) or that we must have IKEA furniture ( which we do) or that we listen to ABBA ( which I do) 
          
          wait… ohh shii… I might be the perfect Swedish stereotype… ohh well!! 
          
          I guess I’m just that Swedish!! :)

If I jump out of a moving car will I die?? 
          
          
          Because I’ve literally been stuck in a car for 5 hours and I still got 3 more hours to go!!!! Help me please  

So do you guys have any good songs from your country?? Or maybe a song that I haven’t heard??
          
          I’m just curious! :) 

hey.... so when are you coming home and updating for me

It’s so nice to not go to school for a week!!
          
          
          
          
          
          Only Swedish people will understand…

Would I get sick if I went out in ordinary clothes in -26 degrees celsius and just took a nap in the snow?? 

Just published a new story called If Our story Had A Name!! Goo read it!!

Tbh I don’t know why I’m posting this but, I’ve always struggled with bullies, even though it was never physical—no bruises, no scars you could point to. The wounds were quieter, but somehow deeper. Words have a way of sticking, burrowing into your thoughts and replaying at the worst moments, long after the people who said them have forgotten. It’s the little things that cut the deepest: the jokes that made everyone else laugh but left you frozen, the comments that seemed harmless to them but felt like a spotlight shining on everything they thought was wrong with you, the way they made you feel invisible just for being yourself.
          
          Over time, those moments start to shape you. You shrink a little, unsure of how much of yourself is “too much” or “not enough.” You second-guess everything you say, every choice you make, wondering if the world will accept you—or reject you—before you even get a chance to show who you are. And even when the bullying ends, the echoes linger. You carry the doubt into new rooms, new friendships, new versions of yourself. You hope each time will be different, that people will see you clearly, but there’s always that quiet bracing, that shadow of expectation that it won’t be.
          
          The hardest part is pretending it didn’t matter. Because it did. It shapes how you see yourself, how you interact with the world, how you measure your own worth. Ignoring it doesn’t help; the feelings don’t just disappear. They sit there, waiting, subtle but persistent, influencing every interaction in ways you don’t always notice.
          
          All I want to say is simple: be kind. Everyone is fighting battles you can’t see, carrying scars that aren’t visible, and you never know how much a single word or action might matter—or hurt. A little kindness can go further than you realize.