Battle of The Bastards

I've been missing The Bastard.

As Bastards come...this one kinda stuck.
With Me.
In Me.
I promised myself I'd never again write about him.
He doesn't matter he who thinks you don't matter.
So I let it dissipate. Like that gust of wind that ushers in the Fall.
In the fictional Battle of the Bastards
The good, upright, noble, brooding, often handsome Bastard won.
In our battle...all that's left is the cold empty air.
Even the pin would choose to drop elsewhere.
Somewhere less quiet, sterile, more woke, more sublime.
Dear Bastard...when you love as you most often do.
Hope it's nothing quite as warm, dear and riotous as me.
So you can miss me quite as much as I do you.