Ah, the third person

There once was a writer. His stories mixed reality with fantasy and quite unlike Fantasia, his world never materialized nor created a portal between the two. He tried to understand himself by making two-dimensional objects with his three-dimensional body in order to see his fourth dimension, his soul. Hypothesizing that the two dimensions would be able to penetrate his three dimensions like an incision made by a razor, he took to watching movies and reading books. He, the dutiful scientist, noted the effect that the two would have on him. Movies helped him glimpse what others may see, books moreso. His imagination roiled with fantasies and realities glimpsed by others. Could they mix? The tears and laughs, smiles and grimaces, and aches in his chest told him yes. Yes, there is hope that humans can connect with one another. Their minds can interact just as much as their bodies. They can communicate their souls to others, cast their cares and reel in understanding. But when he tried to do the same in the three-dimensional world, he was rebuffed. What separates us from each other? Is it ourselves, our desires or our dislikes, our thoughts of others or thoughts of ourselves?