How often do you run into a stranger,
Till he ceases to become one altogether?
They say name's are essential,
But does it hold what’s really vital?

If you know someone’s name but not their thoughts,
Nor their wishes and the battles they fought.
Should you say he’s a friend,
When you never connected till the end?

If you know his wishes and dreams,
And all there is to know it seems;
But you never knew his name,
Is he a stranger all the same?

What if you weave memories together?
Yet you never saw each other,
As compared to the one you see each day,
Yet you never know what to say.

What if he could choose to leave?
And certainly you’ll grieve.
As compared to the one who could stay,
Yet his presence isn’t felt day by day.

Who is the friend, who is the stranger?
Whose opinions should and should not matter?
One who cares and one who doesn’t.
One who promises more, and one who couldn’t.

Maybe a friend could be a stranger really,
Even if he could stay ultimately.
Maybe a stranger could be a friend too.
Even if he could eventually go.

How odd, how confusing.
How sad, how touching.
But isn’t that life’s little surprises?
Making it more meaningful and indeed priceless.