Chapter 59: Love is a Battlefield

War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, the lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade. -Percy Bysshe Shelley

The grass in the field is a golden-rustic wheat color. Thin silver shards glisten under the sun. They sway hypnotically in the wind. I raise my arms just enough to allow the grass to tickle the palm of my hands. I close my eyes. Thoughts of Grandma Mae swim through my head.

She once told me that love is the only true battlefield. For the sake of love, one should set up elaborate scrimmages or carefully craft strategic plans for advancement. I never understood what she meant growing up. But somehow, I think she knew her crazy sayings would come in handy someday.

I guess she meant that in love, we have to pick and choose our battles. Similar to war, love requires a give and take relationship, which can have devastating consequences if not well thought out.