Something Worthwhile

Today I sit inside this room and on this screen and I keep typing. I don't know what for, I don't know why. Nothing really makes sense, and if it does it sounds cliche and melodramatic.
The cold is coming back, both metaphorically and literally. It'll snow again, covering up the soggy wreckage the ice left behind, uncaring. The weather doesn't give a damn about you.
Talking to Nikki again, I think I'm getting better. It still hurts, [strike]I still love her[/strike], I still hate her guts.
It can't be love anymore, if I still loved her I wouldn't want her to be miserable. If I still loved her I wouldn't inwardly smile when she tells me about her new-found friend Karma that I hooked her up with, biting her ass and being a bitch.
In some ways the cold is refreshing, I can concentrate less on last year's wasted summer, on last year's wasted time.
In the cold I can't breathe and I go numb, but it's quaint and I'm getting used to it.