Sam Eliza Green
Bio
Writer, wanderer, wild at heart. Sagas, poems, novels. Stay a while. There’s a place for you here.
Stories (169)
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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 Green4 years 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 Green4 years ago in Poets
How to Live in a Van. Top Story - May 2022.
It’s easier when you’re by the river. Find a spot with moving water. Wash your clothes over a rock. Skinny dip when you feel dirty. Cut your hair. Remember how much money you used to spend on shampoo. It felt like a different life then.
By Sam Eliza Green4 years ago in Wander
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 Green4 years 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 Green4 years ago in Fiction
A Letter to Almost
Should I start with the birds? The seagulls that are really just gulls or so you’d remind me the last time we met? Or the Rufous that flitted around your yard this summer while you gardened and I played with the stray orange cat? How do you track something with so many beginnings?
By Sam Eliza Green4 years ago in Humans
