What corridor friends are to you,
They can never be to me.
One hi, with your turning back goodbye,
A smile covering an unsung sigh.
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Of my life, they know minimal,
Stranger their silhouettes of bold familiarity.
Bespoken are their words of friendship,
Lips coloured with a distasteful trust.
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Yet more comforting is their flattery,
When compared to my fitful friendships.
Their company bares my mournful sighs,
Uninterpreted, confined by my truthful lie.
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Their names were left blank,
Derives no emotion or conforming needs.
At the end of a corridor,
Holds an eccentric stranger accepting me.
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What corridor friends are to you,
They can never be to me.
Their smile holds a lot more,
Than a friend’s does for me.
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