These Clouds and Those Castles

I can't seem to stop floating around on this cloud. Wherever it goes, I go with it. Only I wish it was sunny enough for it to disappear. Land on the ground, on my own feet and look up at the skies and it won't matter if the sky is such a colour that it would blind me. That kind of blue that reminds you of magnolias and the smell of honeysuckle.
But this cloud takes me further and further away from what I know and what I should remember. It takes me to sites I should be awed to see, but instead it scares me, and it leaves me grasping at those gossamer strands, not being really able to hang on to anything because its only wisps and smoke.
This cloud floats over to the Tibetian plateau, and its just miles and miles of pure white. It stops and I cannot tell from which side we flew in, I cannot tell how far left, or right, north or left I am from home. I want to cry when I realise I can't tell where home is. I don't think, in my years of wandering I have ever felt so lost. Here I am, taking in the most pure of all sites, with the cold seeping into my skin, into my bones and it is not home I miss, because I don't know what that word means anymore. They (the whispers of the wind) tell me that home is where your heart is. But in this cold and lonesome place, I can't quite seem to remember where that is either.
I'm crying now, but you wouldn't be able to tell because the tears freeze on my chaffed cheeks. I feel them though, solidifying, laying claim, and then cracking ever so lightly.
I wonder why the cloud brought me here today. To remind me just how lonesome I am? I doubt it, it knows even when its floating over a warm sea and I can dip my toes into the deeper blue pond, unlike the blue I crave, that I am always alone.
So why?
So I sit here, and try to conjure images that would warm me.
The smell of my mothers perfume as she leans over me to look at the scrapes on my knees only makes me sob now. So I sob, because I can do nothing else.
The sound of early morning traffic only makes me panic now, because I know as I am floating somewhere, the world is passing me by, and no..no..I can't.
The sound that fills the air is my sobs now. and it echoes even though it shouldn't and as if it reads my mind, a gust of wind blows and takes away the sound of it. I am glad. It is ever so pitiful and resonates with my anguish even more. So I sob, until I cannot breathe anymore. I sob until my lungs fight over each other for air. And the cloud grows warm and I cannot help crying some more because I know it is merciful.
The cloud grows warmer and warmer still until it burns. and suddenly I am on my feet in a field thick with the smell of jasmines and the sun on my face.
That is what mercy smells like.