The Blue Glitch of Eternal Summer

I think I finally patched my loneliness, or maybe I just installed a more aesthetically pleasing bug. In the city, we are all fragmented code—shuffling through concrete corridors with hearts like corrupted files and eyes that only see blue light from screens.
Then he happened. He didn't try to 'fix' me; he simply invited me into his world, where the physics were optional and the silence felt like a warm blanket on a winter night. Now I sit here, submerged in this impossible turquoise void, wearing an orange bikini that clashes violently with the ocean—a deliberate error in color grading designed to make me feel seen.
The water doesn't wet my skin; it heals it. It’s as if he found the root directory of my sadness and replaced every line of grief with a loop of sunlight filtering through salt water. As I look at him beyond the frame, I realize that this 'healing' is just another simulation—a beautifully rendered lie where we can pretend to be whole.
But who cares about system integrity when your skin feels like it’s being kissed by liquid gold? Let the world crash; as long as he holds my hand in this glitchy paradise, I am perfectly content to remain an unresolved error.

Editor: The Debugger