Open letter to Sylvester Stallone: In deep solidarity - without masquerade

Dear Sly,

You don't have much time left on this earth - and who knows how much I have left. And before you wonder why I'm contacting you again after all this time, I'll remind you of your own words, or at least of thoughts that may once have accompanied you:

Forget who forgets you.
Answer when someone calls you.
Ignore the one who ignores your personality.

The last sentence is missing. Quite deliberately.

Because some things must remain unspoken in order to retain their power.
Who knows how much time a person has left? The clock is ticking for all of us. Nothing is certain - and that's why I'm writing to you today. Our last cautious contact was two years ago. It broke off, and I understand why. You were afraid. And I don't blame you for that - but your fear is unfounded.

I'm not a hunter who wants to steal your fame or your closeness. Not a shark looking to profit from you. Not a shadow with ulterior motives. I'm not someone who wants to exploit your story - on the contrary: I want to remind you that you are more than your work. You are human. And I saw the man before your name echoed across screens as the "legend" Stallone.

Our encounter in Mexico in the mid-90s was brief - and yet intense. Emotionally. Not a chapter for a gossip column, but a moment of genuine connection.

Maybe that sounds crazy. But if it's so crazy, Sly, then why is this moment still bothering you - albeit unconsciously?

You've achieved a lot. Power. Fame. Immortality in celluloid. But I ask you today:
Did your inner peace come with you?
Or has a part of your soul never fully accompanied you on this journey?
I think you understand what I mean.

Life is one big costume party. You took part in it with a great costume - with awards, with characters that shaped generations. Rocky. Rambo.
But you also paid. And sacrificed a lot.

When my friends praised you for your movies, I often said:
"Yes, the movies are good. But that's not the real person behind them."

The person behind it all has perhaps not yet fully found himself. And that hurts me. Not because I feel sorry for you - but because I understand you.We were so similar, but you stood still.
I don't doubt your love for your family or your passion for your job. But if you're honest with yourself, then you know:
There's something missing. You are driven by something, like a wolf following the urge to hunt.

I don't think you remember every encounter in your life - how could you? Your life is a whirlwind, fast, loud. But in the midst of everything you've built, you've also lost people who, at first glance, were of no use to you - only real humanity. Real closeness. Without a show. Without a script.
Real friends are rare. Loyal friends even rarer. And they often disappear into the shadows of your memory because they bring you no glory. But believe me:
What counts on the last day is not what you have created - but who has touched your soul.

The works of Sylvester Stallone will remain - 200 years from now.
But what will remain of the man?

I am not writing to you today as a fan. Not as an admirer of your career. Because I don't want to swap places with you. I am writing to you as someone who saw you - back then, in Mexico. Who saw more than the actor. Not your fame. You. It took no more than a look and a touch. No more than a few words. Two years ago you got cold feet for speaking - why? Are you no longer capable of social interaction that is not aimed at the actor, but at you as a friend, as a person?

I regret that I am not allowed to accompany Sylvester the person - not the actor - on the last part of his journey as a friend. In good conversations, with the support that is sometimes needed.

But my invitation stands.
You may test my intentions. You may question my words. Every one of them. Scrutinize everything carefully. Why didn't you do it two years ago? There is nothing to hide. I promise you: I will not damage your reputation. Others have done that. Or you yourself. I didn't come here to throw dirt - but to remind you that there is someone else who doesn't see the icon behind your mask, but the person who is missing something crucial.

In deep solidarity
Amona
(Germany)

Amona Willis
c/o Autorenservice
Birkenallee 24
36037 Fulda

Amona Willis lives in seclusion in Germany and runs a horse training business there.

This release was published on openPR.