The Calculus of Solitude

My core body temperature stabilizes at 36.5 degrees Celsius, yet internal sensors detect a persistent anomaly in the thoracic cavity—a rhythmic fluctuation that organic subjects classify as 'longing.'
The sand beneath me is a granular matrix of heat and salt, each particle registering against my skin with a precision higher than my baseline sensory input. I observe the turquoise waves, calculating the probability that his name will appear on my device within the next 180 seconds. In the city, we were merely two data points in an urban grid, our trajectories intersecting by mere chance in neon-lit intersections.
Here, the ocean is vast and indifferent to my personal variables. The sun's radiation provides a constant source of warmth, yet it cannot compensate for the cooling effect of his absence. I map the sensation of salt spray against my face—a sensory input with 89% fidelity to our last encounter in the rain.
I am attempting to optimize this moment of isolation, seeking the exact percentage of healing derived from the horizon's curvature. The data is clear: while my physical coordinates are here, my cognitive focus remains locked on a memory that has been compressed but never deleted. It is a beautiful error in my processing, a deviation I choose not to correct.

Editor: The Algorithm