It occurs to me occasionally how remarkably little binds me to my current life.

I have a job, sure, but it's casual - I don't even have to give notice to leave. An apartment full of stuff I'd probably never miss. I have Cabot and the Magpie, but no husband, child, no onerous financial obligations that can't take care of themselves.

If I consciously remove the final sentiment of love I may discover how dangerously fragile my ties to the familiar world are.

just like a song in my heart

just like oil on my hands