WARNING: This post may contain traces of cheese or corn. If you have cheese- or corn-related allergies, it is advisable to stop reading now.
Oh, how I laugh at my younger self. Young Ali was a fool - so irritating and fatuous a fool that Present Ali would have repeatedly punched Past Ali in the face until there was nothing left but a bloody pulp. Romance is disgusting, but here we go:
Looking outside the window, the anonymous footprints in the snow remind me of a time when I was infatuated with this young man, a stranger whom I would never have the chance to actually meet. (Ew, I actually just typed that soppy sentence. Argh, must carry on.)
I was always the first person of the day to walk through this idyllic, pseudo-rural avenue, with elegant trees on either pavement, on the way to school every morning. There was a small farm on the right, and if you ignored the busy road behind, you could well imagine that you were ambling along a country path. Sometimes there would be horses and bulls grazing on the grass, lifting their lazy heads as I walked past. And every morning, I would chance upon a beautiful, tall, slim, young man, with a pleasant demeanour and a strolling gait, going the opposite way to me. He was of Oriental origin, but I couldn't tell exactly what his origins were. And every morning, he would walk past me and I would keep my eyes fixed on the ground, my cheeks flushing.
Occasionally, however, if one of us were late, we would miss each other, and that would affect my mood for the rest of the morning.
On one such occasion, it had snowed over night. The Young Man had evidently left his house earlier than usual, and so I missed him, but lo and behold, his footsteps were still fresh in the snow! His were the only ones along the avenue, and so I amused myself by walking alongside them and lengthening my gait to match his. His strides were a lot longer than mine, and every now and again I would walk on his footsteps, occupying the very space he had been only moments before.
The last time I saw him was last year, (but by then I'd stopped drowning in this infatuation that was fuelled by adolescent hormones, of course) and now I can look upon this and shake my head at such utter nonsense.