It seems to me we choose our wars quite carefully but there are a series of ways in which they remind me of experiencing love-making:
The heat of battle attracts the young. They are full of the thinking that takes offence easily, stands beneath a flag, fights for a cause. They have the energy wars and sex need to be at their height.
It is the older with grey hairs who have seen it all before to whom the young go for their advice. It is always the older who govern the aims and objectives of wars these days, though in the past only those who could take to the battlefield commanded which meant leaders were far younger men than they are today.
No matter how well you plan or how enthusiastic you are, love and war never go quite the way you envisage it. They take on a life of their own as wrought with chance as emotion.
You will always be hurt.
It goes without saying both produce a good many unwanted children.
You can lose yourself utterly in both, almost transfigured into someone who is no longer thinking rationally but wholly immersed in something that has taken you over.
There is always the time when you come to.
And you will come out of them with a host of stories and quite often a drinking problem.