Å Hei. Why did you do it? Were you sent by someone? Someone who must have wanted me dead? Did you sleep with a gun every night underneath our bed all those years? Waiting to steal the final blow? Waiting for when you would cause enough pain that you would grant me the mercy of it being over? Were you writing a book? Were you some form of secret agent? Spy way? Was there a reason for my pain? Will I ever get the answers I deserve? Whether it’s in 10, 20, in 50 years? Will all of this be declassified? And then you confess why you did it, and I’ll finally get to say good riddance to this pain that I harbor inside of me. Ikke Gjør det. Because for whatever reason, you had decided you would realize, I think, that this wasn’t sexy once. It wasn’t forbidden. It wasn’t tempting enough for you. I would have died for your sins, and you knew that. And yet instead, I just died inside, waiting for you. For I love them. You allowed me to shrivel inside myself. You allowed me to die inside. You have murdered who I was before. You deserve prison. And yet you won’t get the time. You continue to slide your way into inboxes, sneak through the path. Now you’ve crashed my party. Er Det for rigtig? Okay? Normal girls were boring. And I believe that for you, I became someone who was unrecognizable to Who I was before. And yet you are still gone by the morning. You are an actor, A sham. Everybody’s starting to realize it. You. You’ve kicked out the stage lights, the curtain is down, and yet you’re still performing. It will not last, because in plain sight you have hid. But you are what you did. And I will try with all my might to forget you. But I will never forgive the smallest who ever lived.