Bono’s voice danced above my head, with beautiful, emotional, double-helixes spinning downwards. His perfectly accented Italian jolted the rotating figure to an enigma shade of amber. The violins in the background conveyed similar golden tones, forming silky tendrils gliding by my face. It’s beautiful really, but soon his voice fades, the eager crowd dies down, and the silk violins disappear. I am alone, no more shapes, no more colors, until I take off my headphones. Almost immediately, Kelly’s energetic bursts of vibrant turquoise swim by me, clashing with the sunset orange passiveness of Savannah’s voice. I am sitting in the choir room, back in the real world, back with the ubiquitous colors of my mind.