Following footsteps

--Walking through the snow, I look up to the night sky. Flakes stick to my eyelashes and melt immediately upon contact. The melted snow drips down my face, and appears as if I've been crying. I feel as if I had been weeping. Weeping without tears, and nature simply added them, like a painter creating his work.
--Looking up at the sky, I feel like I am in a snow globe. The sky is dark and clouded, and I feel enveloped in my own little world. Skipping stupidly through the slush I laugh away my sadness and I pretend I am in a globe. A closed, cold world where change never occurs. Change has hurt me, so I fear it now. I am walking along wistfully in wretched remembrance of the change. It is ironic. Any passerby watching me pounce through the powder could only imagine how seemingly happy I was, but it would just be a farce. A fallacy, set in place to mask the pain.
--The icy path below my feet draw my attention to the ground. Pavement and snow make for one hell of a combination. I see, at my shoes, some soft steps. They are big and pointed, almost like a man's dress shoes. A little amusement ignites in me as I take wide steps to move in the path of my predecessor. I decide to follow the prints on the path, exploring the direction of a person long ahead of me.
--I follow faster and my amusement builds, pretending I am on a hunt. My hunt draws to an abrupt closing when I come to a mass of steps, where many hath trodden. The confusion I feel is overtaken, eaten and enveloped by despair. Snow melts down my face as I break new snow with my steps, forging my own path.