Sometimes, in the midst of that strange, dreamless sleep between dreams, 

An image 

Some random, mundane object that was a fixture in my parents' house pops into my head, and my body jerks violently awake, short of breath, heart pounding. 

It's all gone. 

The enormous "I'll Drink To Anything" mug that held two regular mugs worth of coffee 

The green, oval cigar tin from the middle section of the downstairs medicine cabinet

The enormous, wooden headboard in my parents' bedroom that made a specific sound I've never heard replicated, when it banged against the wall whenever someone sat on the bed

Gone. 

All this familiar ephemera–

Elements of a world I once knew, sacred only for their profanity

Things affixed firmly in time, place, soul 

This world in which I now find myself can only be characterised by familiarity's absence

I reach out in all directions

Try to snatch "home" elements from the aether.

They cost so much

None of them are the same.