Cliche

I come to your table to take your order.
You notice my pink uniform and tired eyes.

We get randomly paired at karaoke.
My stealthy side-eye, adoring gaze is captured
on someone's phone.

You drive me to the airport and realize
you don't want me to go.
You tap me on the shoulder in the security line.

People who saw the movie wanted to
read something into the final shot
of your hand on my shoulder
but I always like to tell our story backwards
so that it starts out loud and rough and sharp
but ends showing two people meeting for the first time
and all that quiet hope that never settles.