When the III of Swords says "family"

I feel a bit bemused at how irrelevant the notion of it.

Devastate me, I trust I’ll know what to do.

Scatter across the floor, skitter, crawl —

I’ll never see it, yours,

And you won’t mine. Flee.

Baby, you’ve gotta live.

I’ve lived like this half my life. On the run and never

in one place for more than four clicks

of the seasons. Alone, together, alone together.

There should have been a lesson somewhere.

Maybe: The basil flourishing in neglect.

Paralysis or peace, whichever.

And at May’s edge, I dreamed I was afraid.

— Kait