We remember Ayrton through his heavenly romantic words about racing.
The “if you no longer go for a gap”.
The “I race to win; as long as I feel I’m doing it right”
The “In the end, I’m the one who is doing it; I’m the one who is driving.”
Words that always send us through a wave of feelings of passion and a sense of belonging that, maybe, no other man in the history of the sport could have done, -faster, and more genuinely-, ever.
We keep remembering Ayrton through his stunning and ravishing shows up in the car.
Are the stairs to the sky that begin in Portugal in 1985 and end in Australia in 1993.
Is the “when it rains, it doesn’t rain on him”.
Are the magnificent evenings of the late 80s' Monaco.
Spectacles the man himself breathed for, and so obliged us to live for, during the lapse of his, maybe short, but powerful career... And beyond it.
We remember Ayrton because he was an authentic, unique and charismatic personality; because he was such an unstoppable, talented and passionate driver; and because he carried a gentle, kind, and real soul within him.
Always a touch of melancholy in his deep gaze made the myth of his introverted personality, such an ardent and fiery legend for eternity.
The man with enough amount of ruthless confidence to do what he thought was fair, and the same amount of ideals to not be able to live with arduous remorse.
How funny. The man that was so close to God, was ultimately, so human.
In the end, every gaze that Ayrton once touched arrives on May 1st, over and over again, with a fair amount of melancholy that implies that Ayrton Senna is, now, more alive than ever before.
Maybe Ayrton deserved better.
Maybe his immortality was sealed the day his chances were ended.
The truth is, what is remembered, lives.
And Ayrton, we can’t forget you.