Tonight feels different.

I knew this day would come.

Somewhere in the deepest corner of my heart, I had already accepted that one day Lionel Messi would play his final game for Argentina. I knew football would eventually ask me to say goodbye to the player who has been a part of my life for so many years.

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But knowing it would happen never made it easier.

I still remember August 2021.

When Messi left Barcelona, I cried like a child.

For an entire week, I could barely accept what had happened. It felt strange seeing the greatest player I had ever watched wear another club’s shirt. Barcelona without Messi did not feel like Barcelona to me.

I knew football would move on.

I knew Messi would move on.

Yet, a part of me kept hoping that somehow, someday, the story would find its way back to where it belonged.

It never did.

And perhaps that is the hardest lesson Messi has taught me.

Some things are beautiful precisely because they cannot last forever.

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Then came December 18, 2022.

The World Cup final.

I remember crying like a baby when Argentina finally won.

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA – OCTOBER 06: Lionel Messi of Argentina reacts after the International Friendly match between Argentina and Benin at Estadio Monumental Antonio V. Liberti on October 06, 2026 in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Lionel Messi is making his final appearance for Argentina following his announcement of international retirement on 31 August. (Photo by Marcos Brindicci/Getty Images)

After everything Messi had experienced with Argentina, after all the criticism, heartbreak, missed opportunities and painful defeats, he finally lifted the trophy that everyone said he needed.

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I wasn’t just crying because Argentina had won.

I was crying because Messi had won.

The boy who made me fall in love with football had finally completed his story.

For years, I watched people debate whether he was the greatest.

I never needed an answer.

I knew.

I didn’t need statistics.

I didn’t need trophies.

I didn’t need arguments.

I simply watched him play.

And every time he touched the ball, football felt a little different.

There was something about watching Messi that went beyond being a fan.

He was part of my childhood.

He was part of my teenage years.

He was there during some of the happiest days of my life, and somehow, he was also there during difficult days when watching Barcelona or Argentina for 90 minutes gave me an escape from everything else.

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I never had the money or luxury to travel across the world and see him from a few feet away.

I never got the chance to touch him.

I never got to stand outside a stadium waiting for him.

I never got to tell him personally what he meant to me.

Millions of fans have been luckier than me in that sense.

But maybe football has its own way of bringing people together.

Because even from thousands of kilometres away, I felt connected to this man.

I celebrated his goals alone.

I screamed at my television.

I argued with people about him.

I watched compilations when I missed him.

I watched old Barcelona matches when I wanted to go back to a time that no longer exists.

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And now, I will do that even more.

I will continue watching those moments.

The goals.

The assists.

The impossible dribbles.

The free-kicks.

The celebrations.

The tears.

The nights at Camp Nou.

The nights in Argentina.

The little moments that perhaps meant nothing to someone else but meant everything to me.

Because Messi was never just a footballer.

For an entire generation, he was a feeling.

He lifted an entire generation.

He showed us that football could be art.

He showed us that you didn’t need to be the biggest, strongest or loudest person on the pitch to become the biggest name in the world.

He made millions of children fall in love with football.

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He made millions of people believe that impossible things could actually happen.

And for fans like me, he gave us memories that will stay with us forever.

Maybe, somewhere in the corner of my heart, I always wanted Messi to play forever.

I wanted him to keep walking onto the pitch.

I wanted another Champions League night.

Another Clasico.

Another Argentina final.

Another ridiculous goal.

Another little celebration.

Another moment where I could simply sit back and think, “How is this man even real?”

But players don’t get to choose when their stories end.

And perhaps that’s why the memories become so precious.

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One day, I will tell someone from the next generation about Lionel Messi.

I will tell them about the little Argentine who became the greatest footballer I ever watched.

I will tell them about Barcelona.

About Camp Nou.

About that left foot.

About the way he could take the ball from the halfway line and make an entire defence look helpless.

About the night he destroyed Manchester United.

About the goals against Real Madrid.

About the trophies.

About the World Cup.

About the tears.

And maybe, if life gives me the opportunity, I hope I can be the guy who gets to experience a moment with Messi from close.

Not because I need a photograph.

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Not because I need an autograph.

But because I would simply want to look at him and say:

“Thank you.”

Thank you for the memories.

Thank you for the goals.

Thank you for the nights when football made everything else disappear.

Thank you for making my childhood unforgettable.

Thank you for giving me a reason to wake up early, stay up late, scream at a television and care so deeply about a game.

Thank you for lifting a generation.

Thank you for giving us something that nobody can ever take away from us.

And most importantly, thank you for being Lionel Messi.

I will miss you.

I already know I will.

But I don’t think I will ever truly say goodbye.

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Because every time I watch Barcelona highlights, I will see you.

Every time Argentina plays, I will remember you.

Every time a kid picks up a football and tries to dribble past five players, I will think of you.

Every time someone asks me who the greatest footballer I ever watched was, I won’t even need to think.

And whenever I miss the footballer you once were, I know exactly where to go.

I will press play.

And there you will be again.

Young Messi.

Barcelona Messi.

Argentina Messi.

The Messi who made us believe.

The Messi who made us cry.

The Messi who made us fall in love with football.

Maybe football moves on.

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Maybe generations change.

Maybe new stars will arrive.

But some players don’t simply belong to an era.

They belong to the people who watched them.

Lionel Messi belongs to us.

And somewhere inside me, that little kid who fell in love with Messi will always be watching.

Thank you, Leo.

For everything.

I will miss you more than words can explain.

And no matter how many years pass, I will always be grateful that I was lucky enough to live in the generation that got to watch Lionel Messi play football.

My footballing childhood ended a long time ago.

Tonight, another little piece of it disappeared.

Gracias, Leo.