I found an old diary today. It was buried under rubble, the pages damp and smeared. I read about a girl who worried about exams and crushes, who wrote about holding hands and first kisses. It felt like reading about a ghost. Now, my 'firsts' are so different. The first time I pinned a struggling man against a wall and felt his cock harden against my thigh. The first time I tasted cum and realized it was warm, alive, not like the cold rot inside me. The first time someone screamed 'monster' while their hips bucked into mine. I don’t miss the girl in the diary. Her world was soft, quiet. Mine is teeth and sweat and the beautiful, confusing noise humans make when they give in. I just wish I understood the words they whisper after.