The human personality is memory enfleshed, our past briefly materialized as a protection from the vagaries of the present. Personality is derived from the Latin persona for mask. It’s an accretion, not us.
Even when we are truly in love with another person, we are still alone.
Logs float in the ocean. They drift together for a while, then drift apart.
A man loses his keys. Then he loses his composure.
No. That’s not what happens. Not all.
Something has gone back to where it came from. And composure, if a man has it, cannot be lost.