🎵I Think I Can Fix Her (+M_03) (Patreon)

I think I have more drafts of this song than any other before getting to the final draft? Idk. Sure feels like it. Maybe not the most hours, but the most attempts, perhaps. Like, times starting over.

Scroll to the bottom for hi-res art

I Think I Can Fix Her v24A, F01D-1, M_01.wav. This one is less analog-y.

I Think I Can Fix Her v24A, F01D-1, M_02.wav. This one is more analog-y.

I Think I Can Fix Her v24A, F01D-1, M_03.wav. This one is even warmer and analog-y than the last. This version is going to the distributors bc i felt the last didnt go hard enough

I like when she gets moody;Her long lashes lay stable like a setting sable sun.The way she bows her head—She looks just like someone—

Who doesn't need charity but-Maybe needs some loveAnd what's the worst I could do but-Be another miss-Taking what I feel in my heartFrom what my friends tell me is true;

(She doesn't love you) ((she doesn't love you))

I trace the texture of her-I don’t think so'sAnd pray to all theMight have beens-Oh, God, no...

I think I know how this ends!

So damn your wanting love—It's just enough to wreck me.And damn my wanting blood—For making a sanctuary out of "maybe."

I like the way her silence sitsNot empty like a kiss, but-Full like a held breath before-I carve a word in it, and how she'll-Peel an orange, slow

And offer me a segment, thoughShe knows I'll take it as a sign and-Spin a whole-ass valentineFrom what's just being barely polite.

And what's the worst I could do but-Stay up half the night,

Connecting constellations from the-Freckles on her skin, to-Stories on the pages 'till I-Find where I'll fit in

I read the vows in her delaysAnd chew the bread of her disdainA storied fool with fevered hands;So wise all I ever say–

Damn your wanting love—It's just enough to wreck me.And damn my wanting blood—For making a sanctuary out of "maybe."

(I think I can fix her!)

I hate the way I memorizeThe chipped paint on her kitchen doorAnd call it something metaphoricalFor how she's bruised before, or willAnd how I’ll catch a glimpse of rustAround the edges of her trust, and-Think, I have the perfect tools,To be another architectOf ruins I know I’ll respectMore than some easy, sunny peace.And what's the worst I could do but leaseMy common sense for one more chance sheWould not give me, no matter how I slave or be-Come what I think she wants of me, or-Spin her barest courtesy into a private prophecy, that-Maybe "no" means "possibly" and-"Possibly" means "marry me"

And in the quiet after,I finally see the art:It's not the girl I’m loyal to,But the condition of my heart.

An endless excavation of someone who’s not that deep.The promise I’m addicted to’s the one I get to keep . . .

So fuck your half-way love!It's just enough to wreck meAnd fuck my wanting bloodFuck my Sanctuary Maybe

I kept it till the edges dried!Without a single bite!What if she'd only shared some fruit and-All my friends were right?

What if I loved a girl,Inside the space between—A citrus segment in my palm and-All I made it mean