Her dresses used to smell of her favourite flowers
For her wardrobe was the cache where all his roses, orchids and carnations were hidden
Intentionally she always kept it messy to camouflage their presence
Always in the perpetual anxiety of being found out
She used to carry it's key everywhere
Now she doesn't like flowers to get plucked
Now she plants new seeds and nurture them
Now her wardrobe is unaromatic and well organised
And it's key keeps hanging silently in the key holder

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Oh fate! what are you holding within you..
Oh fate! what is the ending of this view..
Oh fate! why are you so mysterious..
Oh fate! whatever....but listen to me and don't make the road so furious...


"The key holder.."

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THE KEYHOLDER
A kìí fi ni j'oyè àwòdì, ká má lè gb'ádìrẹ
They call you the keyholder,
Yet you fail to hold the keys in place,
**Lẹ́yọlẹ́yọ bí ọmọ ọwọ̀, the keys are scattered abroad,
What then is the value of the keyholder
When the keys aren't intact?

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Every assignment has a birthplace.

John 10:27-28

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