Dear Chester,

You’re a reflection of my adolescent years. I remember putting the Hybrid Theory album in that purple CD player I kept like treasure, blasting my ears to your voice was my way of escape. I couldn’t believe it at that age I found it though your music. They were real vocals I’ve felt to the core, you’ve placed a mark on me forever to always express the way I feel. Screaming out the anguish and pain you’ve experienced, I felt every bit of it though your music. The abuse you’ve dealt with since childhood, I knew the demons wouldn’t let go. No matter how much a person can heal, the wounds will always find a way to Re-open. The mind has gone over the edge… and the demons have won. I couldn’t believe it when I saw your name in the news this morning. My heart dropped, you took your life away while you gave purpose to mine all those years ago. I was just a kid angry at the world for treating me the way it did. I know you had reasons but I wish you didn’t have to go and I wish we knew this whole time this was you asking for help.

⌊ᶫᵉᵗ ᶫᵒᵛᵉ ᵇᵘʳᶰ ∞ ᵗʰᵒᵘˢᵃᶰᵈ ˢᵘᶰˢ⌋

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Nomad.

I’ve seen and been there and you’ve never believed me if I told you. I’ve lived in the center of the world to the far areas of the land where no one is found. Familiar voices and faces of past blends with present greetings. The moment I’ve felt like I’ve met you before. It’s deep and fascinating to know where you come from. Most likely we’re carrying traits rooted to our growing years. A place where we have been before. People we’ve met and spoke to but never kept. Sharing common grounds of past and present is our only interest. The future hold so dearly to a wondrous life and time is the only essence of this life. The nomad had many homes, many friends and family. Never to settle in one place; Seeking the center of the world to it’s ends. Experiencing this life like a nomad is what we cannot help doing. This life choose us, calls from the wild of our indigenous ancestors. The blood of the nomad flows free in our veins.

⌊ᶫᵉᵗ ᶫᵒᵛᵉ ᵇᵘʳᶰ ∞ ᵗʰᵒᵘˢᵃᶰᵈ ˢᵘᶰˢ⌋

What I cannot attached too is the reason for who I am. I am this, I seek more than the ordinary. – Writer J