A life without sounds is a silent life; there would be no counter-active feelings and no distraction of wilderness. Everything would only become a monotonic and monochromic life, that one shade of feels without a single tingle of neediness. The sign of living would be gone from the sign of population itself and there would be nothing, nothing to do with all these life, we won’t make music no more.

A life without color is a dull life, there would be no such thing called looks, taste, blindness, fashion, or perhaps even attractiveness as everything would always be the same. Everything would feel as if we’re living in a whole planet of socialist believer, where everyone is the same, walking on the same road with the same shoes. The situation of aging itself would be gone along with existence, it would all be worn out as we stood in a light, blending.

A life without words is the most awfully full of boredom place that even the gazillion thousands years old earth would ever witness. Nothing would be able to be said or done and everything would only come as a disfigured abnormality. There would be no cheers, no congratulations, no happiness, no intimation, no initiation, no willingness, no tears, no pain, no whine, no screams, no wails, no plead, nothing. There would only be a painful muted choke of invisibility.

And then… there’s a life without you… without you, Bang Cheol Yong.