There's a lot left to interpretation in the sparseness of this prose. Sort of like prose poems but not at all.
“To hell with goals,” Mari said. “What I’m talking about is desire, about having to.”
“Having to what?”
“I think you know.”
"And then what? Those pictures. They drown. They drown and get lost among millions of other pictures. And most of them are completely unnecessary— and, what’s more, pretentious.” Jonna added a little more quietly, “I mean other people’s. Most of them.”