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.
Of my life, they know minimal,
Stranger their silhouettes of bold familiarity.
Bespoken are their words of friendship,
Lips coloured with a distasteful trust.
Yet more comforting is their flattery,
When compared to my fitful friendships.
Their company bares my mournful sighs,
Uninterpreted, confined by my truthful lie.
Their names were left blank,
Derives no emotion or conforming needs.
At the end of a corridor,
Holds an eccentric stranger accepting me.
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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