love letter

roots dry out, romance lives in the cracks, and Christine J Schmidt has a few needs to share in this distant yet tender piece of prose.


Hydration is one of my many roots. See also: sisterhood, the color orange, stories, and little surprises.

The longer we go without a kiss, the better. If we never kiss, we will never fight. I won’t find fault with something I have not tasted. I mean it. Try me. I’ll flirt, I’ll be my best self, I may accidentally wink, don’t laugh if I do. Just take it, and keep your distance. Let me stare at your mouth when you answer my questions. Pretend you don’t see me staring.

I make sure I drink a lot of water. I am a true romantic, and I know there is nothing sexy about desert mouth, desert body. My love is wet love.

My roots are good, but what grows and thrives above ground is not always good. Something dreadful grows on me now. I hacked the branch off years ago, but its leaves are so green now that they seem to blur, and I don’t know where to look. It’s not a healthy green. I point down, underneath the new (but familiar) growth, at my roots, and then I look up at you. Hydration leaves me through my eyes. Pretend you don’t see me crying.

I hope you will love me anyway. This is not all of what I am.

Bring me water.

This is the sort of love letter I write now.



Christine J. Schmidt is a writer originally from beautiful New Jersey and is currently living in Los Angeles. She received her BFA in Dramatic Writing from SUNY Purchase

taylor yatesComment