Funny how you can get attached to places that don't even exist, virtual congregations of thoughts that throw out hooks and draw you in and cradle you in safety. And they become your refuge, your home, the warm comfortable sofa you go curl up on after a long day's work, the small private room in a bar where you know you will always find your friends.
And then one day you step out, and look back in through the window, and realize it's no longer the home you cherished... it hasn't been for a while.
And you still wish it would be back...

You know the best thing about aeroplanes? Apart from the peanuts in the little silver bags, I mean. It's looking out of the windows at the clouds, and thinking, maybe I could go walking in there. Maybe it's a special place where everything's okay. Sometimes I do go walking in the clouds. But it's just cold and wet and empty, but when you look out of a plane it's a special world...
(Delirium, from "Sandman" by Neil Gaiman.)