you both wear red now.
the hands i used to hold
who used to reach for me
as if we could be something
are drenched in blood. is it yours?
or mine?
it does not matter.
you have left.

it goes like this:
the sun is shining in Bologna.
it is raining in Maranello.
you both are drenched in Rosso (corsa, anniversarie) regardless.
when all is said and done,
there will be no rainbow.

the comparison is endless.
you are both, perhaps, eternal.
man deified, a league above,
Promethean in nature.
loved and hated in equal measure.

everyone wants to know you.
to know why you have donned the Red.
to know your past, those you once loved, if you think of them.
I dont. (did you love me? do you think of me?)
those who knew you before
do not wish to now. it is not a surprise.

perhaps I wish it would be.