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a poem

By Sam Eliza GreenPublished about a year ago 2 min read
photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels

I watch her through

the ribbon of light —

a common mediator for

the door and its long-abused wall,

paint-cracked from years of impact.


She isn’t my world,

but I want her to be.

My world is greyness,

stuffed between formal dresses,

folding under a pile of worn heels.


I once carried more

than just her clothes.

She trusted me with keepsakes,

old photo albums, and souvenirs

she would give to her mom.


We went everywhere together —

Paris, New York, Athens,

a village in Ohio called Rome.

She wore flowers and flamingos,

collecting t-shirts and worn heels.


She loved me.

She bought me stickers

from the places we went.

I wore them like the résumé

of a seasoned world-traveler.


But one day, we stopped traveling.

She started seeing someone new

who didn’t care about

the Seven Wonders of the world

or the languages she could speak.


I still saw her, though.

It was always at night,

and she’d be in a hurry,

trying to get somewhere,

anywhere away from home.


I’d sit in the passenger seat

as she’d spill to me

secrets of her hatred,

thoughts of a different life,

and tears I tried to hold.


We’d wait in her driveway,

dreaming idly about places we’d been,

things we still wanted to see.

She would plan on traveling again

and make other promises she’d never keep.


We haven’t gone somewhere in years.

Maybe it’s because I’m broken.

My sides are splitting.

I’m old,


worn in.


I dropped her favorite book

in a murky puddle

on the side of the street.

She cried and whispered

that she used to trust me.


But this morning,

my ribbon of light

became a window,

and she held me like

we were never apart.


Our journey continued toward

Sunset Boulevard,

and I sat in the passenger seat,

hoping she knew

what she meant to me.


Then, she brought me somewhere

I’d never been before —

a vault of unwanted clutter

at the back of a store.

A treasure hunt, maybe?


I carried for her

the pile of worn heels,

years of memories scraped by.

And she left me there

to be forgotten.

love poemssurreal poetry

About the Creator

Sam Eliza Green

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.

Reader insights

Nice work

Very well written. Keep up the good work!

Top insights

  1. Easy to read and follow

    Well-structured & engaging content

  2. Heartfelt and relatable

    The story invoked strong personal emotions

  3. Masterful proofreading

    Zero grammar & spelling mistakes

  1. On-point and relevant

    Writing reflected the title & theme

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Comments (1)

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  • Allie Bickertonabout a year ago

    I always appreciate a neat and well structured piece of writing. This Poem was superb. I love the way it ended.. so honest.

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