Sam Eliza Green
Bio
Wayward soul, who finds belonging in the eerie and bittersweet. Poetry, short stories, and epics. Stay a while if you're struggling to feel understood. There's a place for you here.
Stories (28/0)
I Know You Lied to Me
The beach, wind in your loose perm — Do you remember that day, remember it for the sake of the young ones who couldn’t? Sand, as gritty as the things we learned to love, sifting between your toes, running like the boy who was finally strong enough on his feet, unbound from the earth, free to roam. Do you remember the tide that taunted us? I wanted to crawl into the sea, but you held me instead while we built a castle out of salt and sand and pretended we were royalty.
By Sam Eliza Greenabout 14 hours ago in Confessions
There Is No Guilt in Distance
I hope that when you call, stirred from self-inflicted isolation, someone answers and when you’re riddled with the guilt of distance, convinced you don’t deserve to hear their voice, they understand that it’s much easier to wilt in cool, dark silence than in the company of friends, who suddenly seem like strangers because how can they really feel familiar if you don’t even know yourself?
By Sam Eliza Green2 days ago in Poets
You're the Ethel to my Lucy
Momma, I will not dwell on the things that could have been. How easily those broke our hearts. Regret is long gone, never belonged here between you and I. Our story is now. I’m no liar, but I’ve never been good at confessions. As you know, I lost my voice, the real one, years ago, and I haven’t quite recovered.
By Sam Eliza Green5 days ago in Confessions
Lipstick on the Wall
When you forgot my name, I wanted to hate you, as if it were easier than accepting the truth of your condition. “Why don’t you care?!” I wanted to scream because it seemed so unfair that my friends went to brunch with their moms when mine had been gone for months on a bender with some stranger she met at the park.
By Sam Eliza Green13 days ago in Poets
Untethered
She led me down strange paths, over rocky beaches, and through ruined places that never had names. She hated familiar. Sometimes, she walked barefoot to feel the new terrain. She liked the way the stones scraped against her feet—a small reminder of her mortality. She had come to terms with her mortality.
By Sam Eliza Greenabout a month ago in Fiction
Hold the Walls
Open your eyes. Emptiness engulfs you. A continuous plane of pale marble stretches into the distance—the flat horizon an unwanted promise of eternity. Everything else is sky, reflecting light from a nameless sun. You feel betrayed by the silence. Scream in fear. Your voice is stolen by greedy air. In the absence of echo, you fall to the stone floor, anchored by the truth of this void. There is nothing else out there.
By Sam Eliza Greenabout a month ago in Fiction
