If I Could Write The Perfect Novella

We Knew So Little About Eachother. We Lay Mostly Submerged, Like Ice Floes With Our Visible Social Selves Projecting Only Cool And White. Here Was A Rare Sight Below The Waves, Of A Man's Privacy And Turmoil, Of His Dignity Upended By The Overpowering Necessity Of Pure Fantasy, Pure Thought, By The Irreducible Human Element - Mind.

He Saw That No One Owned Anything Really. It's All Rented, Or Borrowed. Our Possessions Will Outlast Us, We'll Desert Them In The End.

Not Everything People Did Could Be In A Correct, Logical Order, Especially When They Were Alone.

Oblivion Seemed The Only Reasonable Option.

Finally, You Had To Measure Yourself By Other People - There Really Was Nothing Else. Every Now And Then, Quite Unintentionally, Someone Taught You Something About Yourself.