A Note to My Lover, I Fear My Hope

Sway Montgomery
3 min readFeb 10, 2024

It’s 6am where you are. 617 more precisely. I imagine you shuffling about, quietly trying to get ready in the half-dark, no shirt on yet, still damp from your morning shower.

I want to taste the tiny drops of water clinging to your shoulders, feel you melt under the weight of my lips.

You’re trying to remember everything you’ll need: your toothpaste, hairbrush. You won’t take your razor, not this time. I wonder how your beard has grown since I last felt it. I imagine the scruff of it between my legs, your tongue teasing me, your strong hands grasping my thighs.

They’re tan now. Not like you last saw them. The Thailand sun this week has stained me brown, pink in places. I wonder if you’ll like it.

Maybe you’ve grabbed a protein shake, and you’re carrying it through the kitchen as you lay out your passport, money, credit cards. Maybe you’ve thought of me today. Maybe you’re sorry you said any of the sweet things you said to me this week. Maybe they were a mistake you wish you could take back. Maybe you haven’t thought of me at all.

I wonder.

Will you miss me while you sway on a boat in the Pacific, squinting in the sun from behind dark glasses? Will you wish that you could send me a note, to read my reply and know I am missing you? Do you ever text me, just to know that you are so loved?

Or maybe I’m just pictures to you, pictures of body parts I’m not always comfortable taking. Maybe I’m just the memory of afternoons spent in our hotel, taking me from behind, indiscretions lit by whatever movie is on the television. Maybe that’s all I ever was or will be.

I don’t know if I can be okay with that. I also don’t know if I can give you up if that is, in fact, what I am to you.

It’s time now for you to be in the car, on your way to the airport. Are you in an Uber? Is she taking you? Will she miss you like I will, like I do? Do you miss me?

What do you miss?

I try to imagine what being away with you would be like. To be out with you holding hands, where no one knows us. Where no one knows we aren’t allowed to hold hands. I remember walking once from our room to the elevator, and noticed your fingers curled around mind. So simple and natural that it never occurred to me that it had happened. I do not know if I held yours first or you held mine.

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Sway Montgomery

I was a baker, a cookbook author, a follower of the rules. Now I am following my passion for sharing and exploring all the rules I should have been breaking.