Disclaimer: I don't own a thing, except for my words.

A/N: Hello, all! This fic is dedicated to Allen for her birthday! So happy birthday, Allen, and thanks for being such an amazing friend! :) Each chapter will be a new school year, until the end of high school. I wrote this entire fic within a few days, so I apologize now if there are any typos (I'm human, after all).With that being said, enjoy! X

Your Eyes Are the Color of Home

Freshman Year

You've heard stories about it. Obviously. It's not like it was something you could avoid, really. When you were growing up it seemed almost impossible to go a moment without somebody talking about it. About how wonderful it all was. How beautiful and magical everything was. How everything was (and is) just so bright and vivid and light. During the first few years of these whispered tales, you had been filled with so much hope and happiness you would feel your chin drop into you hand, eyes shining out the window as you just imagined.

You spent years imagining the day you would find your soulmate. Imaging the day you would see him standing there in his perfectness. Your own knight in shining armor. You would imagine the hairs on your arms standing up, your breathing coming in a little bit quicker, and if you really pushed your imagination, you could even feel your heart pounding in your chest. Then, of course, your eyes would meet across a crowded room, or a quiet coffee shop, or over the pages of one of your favorite books.

And, of course, just like how all the stories go, your world would stop and then burst with color.

You used to spend hours, just sitting by your window, sighing wistfully as you tried to picture just what colors looked like. On particularly good (or sad) days, you would ask your mom about them. You probably asked her about a million times by the time you were ten, but she would always give you a small smile and crinkle her eyes. Then she would describe to you all the colors you hoped you would one day see.

She told you how… red was the color of your cheeks whenever you laugh too hard. Blue was the color of your constant daydreaming – how your head was always in the clouds or in a book. Green was the color of grass and the smell of fresh spring – a new start – and the sound of your pattering feet. Yellow was the feeling of soft flowers, the warmth of the sun and in your heart, and the sound of your laugh. Purple is the feeling you get when you read a really good mystery and you're trying to figure it all out. It's the color of thought and the pride you feel when you get it right. Orange is the feeling after a long, fun day and you think about all the times you laughed and smiled. Pink is the feeling you get when you sing and dance to your favorite song. And brown is the feeling of being home.

But she always saved her favorite color for last. Every time.

Then there's the most beautiful color in the whole entire world! Your younger self would be just about shaking from excitement and wonder by this point. This color makes your mommy's heart very, very happy. Do you know why? Without fail, you would always whisper why and the word would be filled with such marvel, your mom would lean down, gently kiss your forehead, and look back at you.

It's the color of your eyes.

You would feel yourself blush and know your face was red, and your mom would smooth down your hair, which was blonde, a light yellow, and you would smile and stare at your mom's blue eyes. But, really, everything around you was just shades of black and white. The grays held such mystery that a small part of you hated it. But the larger part? It waited with bated breath for the day you could tell your mom that, yeah, you knew exactly what she meant.

But that was then. That was when you were still naïve little Lucy Caboosy.

Now you were Quinn. You were a freshman in high school, on the cheerios squad, and you were quickly making your way up the social ladder. No more thoughts of bright colors, no more dreams of rainbows, no more head in the clouds as your heart took over. No. You've made friends with the constant gray around you and you've welcomed it. After all, it's the only thing that's always been there for you, through all these years. Through the bullying, and the dieting, and the nose job, and your father's drinking, and your sister leaving, and your mom closing herself off. Your mom never did tell you what the color of sadness was but you could make a pretty good guess; it was the color of your mom's eyes, or the shade of your front door, or the emptiness of your house.

But you've learned that the cheerios were red and red? Red meant being fierce. It meant being untouchable, and feared, and worshiped. It meant being unbreakable, and powerful, and in control. It meant being Quinn. So you wore the uniform proudly, never telling anyone that you imagined your insides turning purple, and made sure almost every slushie you threw was cherry. Because red meant never going back to being Lucy. Because red meant never being a loser.

You weren't alone, though. You weren't the most popular – yet – (it was only freshman year, of course), but you still had two friends: Brittany and Santana. You had met them at tryouts for the cheerios over the summer and you almost instantly clicked with them. They had been friends since they were so young, they barely remember what it was like to live in a world absent of color.

You want to be happy for them, but the part that makes you feel jealous, green, because they can see sometimes takes over. Okay, sometimes is a bit of an understatement. So you paint the perfect smirk on your face, smooth your red uniform down, tighten your blonde hair, and toss a purple slushie at the closest loser. Because you can't be Lucy anymore. You can't be the girl pining after a world that would never be hers. You can't be that girl who would give up everything to have her world flipped.

So when it happens one day, you feel yourself almost die.

You are at the mall when it happens. It's early December, one nice weekend, and your mom wanted to get some Christmas shopping done. But, really, Russell had been angry all day and you know she just wanted to get the both of you out of the house. You don't say anything as you munch on your soft pretzel while your mom flits in and out of the stores in the large mall.

You're walking to the nearest trashcan to throw away your now empty pretzel bag when you feel it. The hairs on your arms stand up, your heart skips a beat before wildly thumping in your chest, and you feel your breath coming in quicker. You halt your steps, take a large breath, and slowly drag your eyes up.

And then you see her – standing there, staring at you. And then, all at once, you see everything.

You see the shining Christmas lights stung up all around the mall dancing with color. You see the bright clothes everyone around you is wearing. You see your hair fall into your eyes and it's blonde – blonde! You almost start crying right there in the middle of the mall. In fact, everything starts to get a little blurry from your tears and all the colors are suddenly swirling together. You whip your head back up to see if you can still see her.

You do. She's at the other end of the mall and it looks like she's having the same thoughts as you pouring through her mind. Her head is wiping around in every direction taking in everything. She has long dark hair and it's swishing with every movement and she's wearing a bright coat and you don't even know what color it is because this is all so new. But she's smiling and laughing and there are at least twenty-seven stores in between you but you just know that it's your new favorite sound. Suddenly all you want to do is run over to her and just stare and learn all of her colors because she's making you feel yellow and red and orange and like a god damn rainbow.

But then you feel your world stop spinning and it's like all the colors are gone and everything is black and white and shades of disappointment. Because she's a girl and you're a girl and if there's one thing that you remember it's the sound of your father's cold voice biting at your soul. You can hear him like he was standing right next to you, probably seething red, and telling you how much a disappointment you are and that you're nothing but sin. You feel yourself fill up with so much black you barely have a chance to take one more look at her before you're running into the bathroom two stores down.

You barely make it to the first open stall, pushing past a steady stream of people, before the first tear falls. There is just so much to take in and you've never felt so young. You feel soft and pink and like Lucy and there's a tight knot in your stomach that just won't go away no matter how hard you squeeze it. You spend the next five minutes just trying to learn how to breathe again and it's only when you feel your phone vibrate in a pocket that you take your first steady gulp of air.

It's a text from your mom telling you that she's done with the store she was just in. She asks where you are and you tell you felt sick and the mall is too crowded so you'll just meet her at the car. You wait another full minute after she replies with an okay Quinnie before you exit the stall.

You try not to, but you stare at everything. You look in every store, you glace at every person, and you just take it all in. This is what you have been dreaming of for the last fourteen years and suddenly it's here. Your once upon a time is no longer a maybe one day but rather it's today. It's now.

So you stare. You stare and you ignore the thumping of your heart and the light tickle at the back of your head just begging you to turn around and find her.

You step outside and you don't even feel the cold air slap your face. Because the sky is blue and the grass is green and there must be cars in every single color. You manage to make it to your mom's car while only almost getting hit twice. But then you see your mom walking to you, arms full of bags, and you're crying again. She's so beautiful and graceful and your mom; she was your first (and sometimes only) best friend and you can see her blonde hair and blue eyes.

She seems alarmed at first, obviously, when she sees you gripping the car behind you and crying in the middle of the parking lot. She quickly pops open the trunk and shoves all the bags in before she closes it with a thud and suddenly you're in her arms.

"Quinnie, what's wrong?"

And so you tell her.

"Mom," you sniffle. "You're so beautiful." With a gasp she pulls back and stares at you with her own glossy eyes. And then she's smiling and she's laughing and you don't think you've ever experienced her this happy and orange before.

You spend the entire drive home just staring out the window holding your mom's hand. The only sound either of you make is the occasional chuckle. You barely register the fact that you haven't taken the highway home like you normally would. You just watch the world outside your window as the colors swirl and mix from the speed of the car. You want to ask your mom to tell you what all the colors actually are but you are so scared that you'd break the spell. So you watch. You watch the trees thin out, you watch the land turn into farms and hills and houses. You watch as the sun starts sinking in the sky.

You watch as your car pulls into an empty parking lot. Your mom has driven to an empty park and you can see there is a lake and trees and they don't have their leaves anymore but you know what green is now because it's the color of grass so you picture the trees are filled with them and they're bright and green and you almost feel like crying again. But then again, you have to think if you ever even stopped. You feel yourself go pink when you realize the answer.

Your mom is smiling over at you and she squeezes your hand and gets out of the car. You follow her out. She grabs the emergency winter blanket from the trunk and makes her way down into the empty field, down by the lake. Your breath softly puffs out in front of you as you follow her. You make it to the small dock at the lake and your mom lies the blanket down. She sits with her legs slightly bent under her and pats the space next to her. You sit with your legs crossed and stare out over the lake. Suddenly it's almost hard to breathe again and you know why your mom has brought you here.

The sun is setting just on the other side of the water and the clouds are just so beautiful and you can't even begin to think of all the colors that are there. But it's reflecting in the still water and your eyes are stinging because this is it. You're gasping because it's so beautiful and wonderful and vivid and bright and everything you've heard your entire life. You drink it all up. You freeze this moment into your memory and you swear with all of your being that you will never, ever forget this. No matter how many years you can see the colors you've always felt, no matter how adjusted you become, no matter what words your father and the world scream at you. Because this? This pure, unadulterated beauty… was created because of your soulmate. Because of love. Because, even though when you think of her and the gray starts seeping into your soul, you know that love? Love is beautiful. Love is a sun setting over sparkling water with every color from an artist's palette brushing the sky. Love is magic. Love is color.

Suddenly you're laughing. You're laughing so hard and you hear your mom join you and all you can do is hug her and she hugs you back just as tight. And she's telling you that she loves you so much and you tell her you love her too. You tell her she's the best mom and she tells you that you make her want to be the best. And then suddenly you're pink and you feel Lucy, buried deep within you, smiling at you. You laugh a little louder, hug a little tighter, cry a little longer.

But then your mom is pulling away, and she's looking at you, and she asks you,

"So, who was he?"

And then you can't breathe again but for all the wrong reasons. The sun is gone and it's a cold December night and the wood under the blanket you're sitting on is damp and suddenly you can't feel your hands. Your mom starts to look panicked, and you can't have that. You can't tell her because all of this would be gone. And you cannot have that.

So you do what you do best. You're a deep red.

"I don't know. The mall was so crowded. I just looked up, saw someone, and then… color. I, uh, I might have freaked out a little bit and ran to the bathroom." It's not a complete lie but you still feel the black seeping under your skin.

"Oh, Quinnie. You'll find him again!"

You smile and try to push the black away. You think of the sunset and how, at one point, it was the same shade of her coat. Your smile becomes a little less forced.

You take your mother's hand when she stands and the two of you make your way back home.

Your mind is filled with yellows and reds and oranges and shiny, dark hair.

.

It isn't until February when you see her again.

This time it's at school.

It seemed like the only thing you did since the first time you saw her was answer questions. Questions about what it's like, from your fellow cheerios who hadn't experienced the color yet, questions about who the lucky guy is, questions about whether or not you're going to look for him. The worst, of course, was during Christmas, when you were surrounded by Fabrays and their peering eyes and their judging tongues. Your father had be so proud for the first few days, but then his bright eyes became cold and hard again. But you had sung that song so many times, the tight-lip smile and the polite, short answers and the gray were natural.

So you didn't tell anyone about her. You didn't tell anyone about how you walked miles and miles through neighborhoods at night, just gazing at all the different Christmas lights. Or how you brought an extra pair of gloves with you – blue (your mom made sure to teach you all the colors)– just in case. You didn't tell anyone how your heart would jump into your throat every time you saw long brown hair and then plummet to your stomach when you realized it wasn't her. You didn't tell anyone how you just… hoped.

When you see her at school, you almost shout it to everyone. Because there she is. She's here. And suddenly that rainbow is back and you feel like crying again. She's at her locker a few rows down from yours and you want to laugh because literally how did it take you months to finally find her – at the mall, no less. But she hasn't seen you yet, so you take a moment to look at her.

Your fingers start tingling, your mouth goes dry, and you suddenly feel like you're about to pass out because she is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen – including the colors. She's wearing a blue and green argyle sweater and a black skirt and brown Mary Janes and Quinn would have been red, but Lucy is pink. And you're thinking words like cute and adorable and –

And then suddenly Santana's there, slamming your locker shut, and sliding in front of your line of sight.

"God that loser has absolutely no sense of fashion. I don't blame you for staring, Fabray. Sometimes I catch myself doing it too, just thinking, how can someone be that ugly?"

There's gray everywhere. And then there's burning red because how dare Santana call her ugly. How dare she speak about your soulma –

No. You can't go there. You welcome the gray and the knot in your stomach.

"She kind of makes me wish I couldn't see color so I wouldn't have to see that."

Santana's laugh ensures you that she suspects nothing. Good. You feel like the black is suffocating you.

But then Brittany is pouting beside you and Santana stops laughing and looks at her softly.

"She helped me find Mr. Quackers last year, San. Don't be rude to Rachel."

Rachel. Rachel, Rachel, Rachel, Rachel.

You've read hundreds of books in your short life so far, but you've never heard of a more perfect word before.

Brittany and Santana start walking to class and you blindly follow them in your Rachel trance.

And then you hear a locker shut and you look to your left to see her, Rachel, turning to catch your eye. And then your world stops for the second time. Because this time there isn't a crowded mall and almost thirty stores in between you. This time there is no sudden burst of color to distract you. Just you and Rachel (Rachel) in the hallway staring at each other. She has the most beautiful eyes.

Rachel starts slowly smiling at you with what you can only describe as a sunset in her eyes and if you could put together a complete thought you would have been able to think that, yeah, you probably look the same way. Her cheeks go the softest pink you've ever seen.

"Hi Rachel!" Suddenly your world is pushed into motion again and Brittany bounds over to your Rachel – no, just Rachel, she is not yours – and is giving her a hug. You push down the red and green. "Thank you again for saving Mr. Quackers. I've made sure to keep him away from all the trolls this time."

"Oh, o-of course, Brittany. We wouldn't want Mr. Quackers to be abducted by those nasty trolls again. It would truly be a travesty." But she's still staring at you and you at her and her voice is shooting right through you and it's yellow.

"I don't know what that means, but mm-hmm! Yup!" Rachel finally breaks eye contact with you to flash a smile at Brittany and suddenly you realize it's going to be a while before you learn how to breathe again. But then Brittany is talking again.

"Rachel, you know Santana –"

" – Hey, dwarf." It's said with a roll of her eyes and an annoyed flick of her ponytail.

" – And this is my friend, Quinn. She's on the cheerios with us!" And then you're back to looking at a god damn sunset and Rachel licks her lips and softly whispers,

"Quinn." You almost die right then and there because nobody, nobody, has ever said your name like that. You want to tell her to say it again. And again. And again and again over and over until you're drowning in color and her voice and Rachel.

But then there's another voice in your head shouting about sin and disappointment and the colors stop swirling and your breathing becomes shallow and you do the first thing you can think of. You see red and you lunge.

You don't know who you grabbed the slushie from, but all you know is that brown and red make you want to cry and sob out that you're so sorry and that you love her. But instead, you bite out,

"Brittany, Santana, let's go. We can't be seen talking to some freak." And people around you are all laughing and you ignore the ice pick in your heart and drop the empty big gulp at Rachel's feet and walk to class.

If Rachel thinks she can love you, then she is so wrong.

.

In March you start dating Finn. You let people convince themselves that you're dating because, while you're waiting for "him," you're also still in high school, so you should still be able to date. People understand and they pat your arm or give your shoulder a reassuring squeeze or flash a sympathetic smile your way.

You don't tell them it's because you already know just exactly who your soulmate is and you can't be with her because you can't be a sin. You don't tell people it's because you're going to be the head cheerio next season and Finn will be the first string quarterback and it's too socially perfect for your image to pass up. You don't tell them it's because you can't keep running from Rachel so you decided to hide behind Finn and pray that she understands what you're trying to tell her. You don't tell them how the yellows and oranges and reds and purples are all fading, bleeding into the big gulps you keep dropping at her feet. You don't tell them how it hurts.

You're meant to love her. You are meant to be together. To be happy together. And you can't help but look at her when you no one is watching. She is so beautiful. Even if she wasn't your soulmate (that thought sends hot, burning white through your heart), you swear you'd still be able to see the rainbow in her smile. One day in April you're walking the empty halls in the middle of class and you finally hear her laugh. Your knees go weak and you have to lean against the row of lockers so you don't fall down.

You were right: it's your new favorite sound.

You're meant to love her.

But how can you love something that makes you feel so damn ugly inside? How can you love something that automatically evokes the glare of your father in your mind? How can you love something that is so wrong? So gray?

You can't. So you don't.

Instead you throw more slushies. Cherry. Every time.

Because red is beautiful and you are so ugly.

.

It's almost the end of your freshman year; there is only one day left until summer break. You sneak off to the auditorium because there are just so many people and they're not the person you want and Finn has been following you around like a lost puppy and you just need to breathe.

So you sit in the back of the dark room staring at the stage with only one spotlight on, and you try to fix your heart because it's shattered. You're only a girl you shouldn't have to be in this much pain. All you've always ever wanted was someone to love and have them love you back. Lucy and red and bruises of color and all. And you've found that person. You've found Rachel. But you can't have her. You can't ever love her. Because it's wrong.

But you can't stop thinking about her. You whisper her name like it's a sacred prayer (it is) and you're constantly rememorizing the curves and slopes of her face from afar. She's a mirage that you can never reach.

Beautiful and Rachel have begun to mean the same thing in your mind.

You wipe harshly at the tears falling from your eyes. You have to stop thinking about these things.

But then she's there. On stage. Walking softly, slowly, almost as if she's in a dream. She reaches the piano that's under the spot light and drags her fingers over shiny top and then over the keys. She smooths out her skirt under her as she sits down on the bench. You don't realize you've stopped crying.

And then she takes a big breath and pushes down on the keys and she's singing. This, this right here, is suddenly your new favorite sound (besides Rachel's laugh and the way she says your name).

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
There's a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby

It's soft and slow and sad and you feel your heart breaking over and over again like waves crashing to the shore. You can feel the words she's singing like the colors you used to wish so hard for.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true

She's so bright and is made of so many stars she's her own galaxy. You're crying again and you're almost positive your jaw is touching the floor and your lungs haven't received oxygen since you first saw her. The burning in your chest makes you gasp and then you're standing.

Someday I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

Your feet move without much thought from you. You don't care. You slowly and silently stumble down the rows and down the stairs. Rachel is your beacon and you walk steadily to her light.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Blue birds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then oh why can't I?

If happy little blue birds fly beyond the rainbow
Why oh why can't I?

She stops singing almost at the same time you walk up the last stair onto the stage. You're still in the shadows a little bit and Rachel was so immersed in the song she hasn't noticed you yet. Her head is bowed and her hair is blocking her face and you just want to run your hands through it to see if it's as soft as it looks. You hear her give a small sniffle and then there's glass shattering in your chest and you can't help but give a small gasp because, wow, that really hurt.

She's looking at you now. Her face is twisted in shock and pain and fear and it makes you stumble forward because you put that fear there.

"Rachel…" It's the first time you've called her by her name. In fact, it's the first time you've said her name out loud to anyone before. It's always been crude and callous names because if you ever called her Rachel, everyone would hear the way your voice caresses it like a long lost lover. (Because, in a way, that's exactly what you are – what she is). They would hear the heartbreak and the sunsets behind each letter. They would hear the love.

Because, my god, you want to love her. You want to hold her and kiss her and make her so damn happy she bursts with color. You want to tell her about your dreams but how reality is so much better because she's there. You want to tell her that you'll take her to that land so she can sing with the blue birds. You want her to meet Lucy and to tell her that she is so beautiful. You want her to know that she makes you feel like you're flying just by saying your name.

Even though you know you can't.

But you say her name anyway, and she hears it all.

She stands and takes a step away from the piano, towards you. Your eyes flicker over her face and you feel her do the same. You take a step forward. She echoes. Then five more smaller steps and she's right in front of you. Rachel.

"Quinn." It's such a small sound but it send chills up your spine. She's looking at you like you put the damn sun in the sky and, yeah, you bet you're looking at her the same way. You're so close to her you could count her eyelashes if you wanted to (you want to). But she licks her lips and then suddenly all of your attention is focused on her mouth (you wonder if her lips are as soft as they look). But then she's speaking to you and you would do anything in the world just to keep listening to her voice.

"You're so beautiful, Quinn." Suddenly there aren't enough colors to describe the feelings shooting through you. So you laugh instead and you regain the use of your arms and she's smiling at you when you lightly push a lock of her hair back behind her ear (her hair is so much softer than anything you've ever felt). You let your hand softly fall through her hair until you're cupping her cheek and you will your heart to please, please not explode from your chest because you do not want this moment to end. Your smile is blushed with orange and yellow and pink and you softly whisper back, scared that anything louder would pop the bubble you've found yourself in.

"Rachel… You're the one who is beautiful."

She looks down because she's blushing and it's your favorite shade of pink. You swipe at the tear that falls from her eye while she glances back up at you through her lashes and a part of you think she has the right idea with the whole crying thing because you've never felt so alive. But then her left hand is gently grabbing your wrist that's cupping her face and her other hand is traveling down your free arm until finally she laces her fingers through yours. And, my god, you two fit together so perfectly – like you were made for each other.

You were, after all.

You slowly close your eyes and lean forward until your forehead is resting against hers. You're breathing the same air and it's actually making your legs begin to feel weak.

"I've been so…" you feel her sigh out, her warm breath surrounding you in a dazing cloud. You give Rachel's hand a gentle squeeze to encourage her to continue. She takes a shaky breath in, "…. Scared," and breaks your heart as she exhales.

Your eyes snap open and you pull your head back and drop your hand from her face. Rachel is still holding your hand, well more like squeezing the life out of it, and her face has so much panic and gray on it, you have to look away. The wild thumping inside of your chest does nothing to help calm you down.

You did this. You made Rachel afraid. You've scared her.

"No – Quinn –Please! I –"

It's the first thing either of you have said above a whisper; it's the only sound to knock you out of the blue clouds to fall down down down back into the swirling gray. You feel yourself drowning and there's no red to save you. You're kicking and screaming and clawing but you're sinking. There's blood and water in your lungs and the auditorium is gone and you're no longer holding her hand, but your father's. And he's shouting at you; you're a monster, a sin, a disappointment, you shouldn't be here, you shouldn't be able to see these beautiful colors.

And then it's you. You're standing in front of yourself and you're standing tall and proud and red and you don't recognize the viscous snarl on your lips or the ice in your eyes. But it's you. And you're lifting up a big gulp and it's spilling red everywhere and then it's hurtling towards your face and it stings. The ice is in your chest and you can't breathe and it's like you've been slapped in the face and inside you Lucy is crying and yelling at you.

But then there are soft hands on your face and there's brown. Rachel's in front of you and she's speaking to you but you're under water and her voice is muffled. Her fingers are running through your hair and a small part of you is so happy that the cheerios are over for the year so your hair isn't trapped in a ponytail – because it lets Rachel run her fingers through it. She's lightly scratching your scalp and drying your endless flow of tears and she's telling you – pleading with you – that it'll all be okay, that it's okay.

You feel the colors start to sort themselves out and your breathing is a little less shallow but you can't be here anymore. You want to hug her and kiss her and give her the world – but how can you do that when your very own world is crumbling inside of you? She deserves to feel happy and beautiful and loved and all you've managed to give her was a habit of bringing an extra set of clothes to school and fear.

You, Lucy Quinn Fabray, do not deserve her.

The walls are closing in on you again and you really have got to get out of that dark room or else you feel like you're going to die. Your eyes flicker over Rachel's face one more time and she's slightly blurry but you can still see her beauty as clear as day. And then you're kissing her forehead and it's filled with the million I'm sorry's you'll never be able to tell her. Then you're backing away from her comforting hands and you know your face in showing just how much your heart is hurting but – somehow – you manage to brokenly say,

"I can't, Rachel," before you're running down the stairs and out of the auditorium – back into the world that doesn't know of the sunset in your heart – doesn't know that that sunset is slowly turning into the night sky.