To The Victor Goes…

We have a penchant for the dramatic. I freely admit to my desire for brash passion and brilliant gamesmanship. You have the ability to parry and counter, all while lulling me into a false confidence, drawing me out only to flank my advance. Check. Mate.

When we are locked in those moments, the battlefield a smoldering wasteland of flesh and sentiment, I see the fire in your eyes…mirrored in mine. A worthy opponent, a player of skill and aggression, a game of monumental stakes.

I have seen you burn your village for an advantage, I have sacrificed my own armies to gain ground on you. We have laid waste to all that surrounds us, for toxic and restorative victory. You plot my ruination and I plan your fall from grace.

When we lock our gaze in the mire of combat, we feed into that dark, unmistakable thirst for utter destruction. Mutually assured.

When I yield, when you submit. When we have drawn our last breath at the other’s hand…

We declare sweet war again, and again…