Ephemeral, but not quite so. This is the product of the incomprehensible.

Your father found you on the boulevard three nights ago, lying in a pool of your own madness. You drifted not too far from home after your sister caught you sleeping in the attic. "You can't be here," she said, her voice stern and solid like a drill instructor. "He'll find you in the middle of the night. He'll kick you to the curb and take what's left of you." So you woke up from the dream, the one where you are flying through the star lines and you make your stumbled way towards the ladder. "Don't come back," she says, turning away before even finishing the sentence, leaving you to climb back down the way you came in.