Francesco. Your father has passed away. May he rest in peace. It must have you thinking of our mortality. The one thing that will certainly eventually come for all of us. I write this letter to satisfy a morbid itch that has inhabited me with recent events.
All around me is Red and Yellow. Only my limited bank account holds me back from covering every inch of my home's walls with our symbols, the most common of which is your image. Running in Red and Yellow as an icon. A banner yourself. Celebrating. Your sprint to the curva, your joy, the energy you radiated that was felt in every roman's heart so strongly in that moment. When I look at that image, I feel millions of people united by the love of our colors. I don't know if any other man in modern times has achieved the deity that you have with Romanisti.
Even though Francesco really means "From France", some people make a bit of a reach and interpret it as meaning "Free Man". A very fitting name for you. You were always free. On the field and in your demeanor.
Coming back to the pictures on my walls, I have one of the number 10 on your back with you facing away. When I see it, I want to follow you like an apostle. Not as a footballer, but as a man. Francesco, you are my hero. A gladiator for whom millions would cry.
Watching you and Danielle was the reason I fell in love with Roma. We cried deeply when you left the field. We will ache when you leave this earth. This is me, taking my chance before you go to express my deep gratitude that you gave us your love for the shirt. When I find myself thinking I don't want to have children, it will only be another week before I watch the Giallorossi flags fly in the eternal capital and think what I fool I am for not wanting to have kids with whom I can share this feeling with. My father didn't give this love to me, you did. I will cherish it until the day I am free myself.
Ti amo, Capitano,