Nadia had a cigarette
between both teeth.
In the apartment next door,
I’d heard when Nadia played
The Aces’s record.
I rubbed my face with my hands
to drown out the sight
of the sound of her album,
playing The Aces again.
Goddamn The Aces.
Night, day, or anytime
in between, she’d be dancing
to the songs of the beats I heard
but I memorized the words
without a second thought.
I’d sing the songs that caught
wind of the misery within me,
kick my feet to moments undefined,
undress Nadia with my eyes,
and taste her skin by her fireplace.
God.
I hate the girl band.
At least, I thought I did.
Nadia knocked on the wall.
She heard me singing
Girls Make Me Wanna Die in my sleep.
Nadia asked me over.
So I came over.
And now, Nadia makes me want to love her.