I guess you could consider us strangers...we've never met. We barely know what each other looks like. I don't know if she fiddles with her hair when she talks or if she snorts when she giggles. But I don't think we're strangers. I don't know if she thinks we are, but I don't think she does. I mean she knows me better than anyone. I don't know how, but she just knows. When we talk, I'm just myself. I don't really need to worry. And I know everything about her. I know which films she likes, what she thinks of her parents, how her day went...how her boyfriend is.

Yet, with some people who I see nearly every day, I feel strange. We're strangers. We just don't know each other. I know how they walk, how they talk and I could recognise them from a mile away. But they don't know who I am and I feel like I don't know them.

Then there's the occasional person who was a stranger. Then they become something more. Their self begins to spill out until you know them. More than you thought ever could. Sometimes you like that person who's not so strange to you anymore. With others, you wish you could just forget and see them as the same masked figure as you once saw them as before.

All of these people eventually merge into the strangers though. They eventually come bored and so do you until they're just another face, whether that face is still right in front of you every day or is somewhere else, halfway across the country, the city: the world.

Whether they were strange to you before or not, they'll get stranger; until they become a stranger.

That's the whole cycle of knowing someone really: you meet, you consider the person you've just met as not a stranger, you start to know things about each other, you become closer and then you drift away.

Sometimes you don't get close though.

And sometimes you think that drifting away into the strangeness is too painful, so you leave.