To Be Loved The Way I Love F1, What A Thought, But Not Like Ferrari Since 2010, No, That’s Like A Cursed

to be loved the way i love f1, what a thought, but not like ferrari since 2010, no, that’s like a cursed love letter you keep reading even though it’s giving “toxic ex who keeps texting” vibes. no thank you, i’d rather be loved like red bull in 2023— chaotic, fast, a bit of drama, but at least we’re winning and making everybody mad. and maybe like mclaren after 2024? who knows, still figuring it out, but they’ll get there and so will i, just. let me breathe.

i’m not even sure i want to be loved— i just want speed, and noise, like driving down a street, f1 music blaring while my 1.2L engine pretends it’s a turbocharged beast, but it’s not, it’s just me, pretending i’m at monaco. but somehow it feels real.

so i went and chose engineering, because who wouldn’t want to suffer, like i’m not already doing enough by being born too late to be an f1 driver. like, yeah, i could’ve raced at 18, but here i am, soldering wires and calculating resistance, living the delusion that somehow, someway, toto wolff will see my tweets and hand me a seat so i can drive into the pit of my dreams.

but nah, i’m just here, pretending i’m quicker than i am, just like when i got my license at 18 and blasted f1 tracks as if i was about to win silverstone, while my car barely passed the speed bump at the end of my block. it was freedom, though. it was delusional and it was everything.

maybe i’m not even in love with people, maybe i’m just addicted to the idea of speed— and yeah, the walls i keep hitting don’t help, but hey, if i crash into a barrier, at least it’s a passion crash. i’m in love with the chaos. maybe that’s my problem.

but pls—if you’re gonna love me, don’t love me like ferrari, don't love me like “oh, we were so close but here’s p2,” love me like red bull— always faster, always something up in the air, always winning (in the most chaotic way possible). that’s the vibe i’m after, that’s the dream i’m chasing.

so, here i am—delusional, writing f1 rpf fanfics at 2 a.m. while figuring out why i’m broke and why my heart beats to the rhythm of pit stops, but if you get it, then maybe you get me. or maybe we’re both just chasing something that’s always just out of reach.

(aka: send help, and a car with a turbo unit, pls.)