aarón gonzález | composer

Text by Rebecca Morgan Frank
I love you. I love nobody.
I love the way the storm is coming down, sky against ground, and my electric driven bones begin to ache and the harpist
across the hall plays out our melancholy.

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I love nobody. I love you. Whoever
you are walking up the stairs past my floor or on the street down below where umbrellas fill and collapse,
collapse and fill. I love every rickety
framework that fills with wind, that holds for you.

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I love nobody. There is nobody
to love and yet I still love you, whoever
you are sitting on the subway beside me,
or setting off the bells that sing to me
from a distance, wherever you are, my fate
my melody, my untapped figure. My nobody, my you.

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I love you, I love nobody. I love you every time I see you leaving the theater alone, or spooning your soup with solitude in the café. I see you in every part of the city I trespass through. How could I not, you, the ones

I could love, you, the yous,
the millions of you, the nobodies.