I woke up to the shriek of my silence 
adrift in a tide of sorrow
its waves—raw agony
searching for the magic in the mess
and mundane of an imperfect life.
I used to cradle the silence 
of our eventual reunion.
but now, the world insists heaven
is just a word for where I can't reach you.
you filled holes in my heart
that I never knew existed 
and it's hard to explain 
how I am so empty 
and at the same time
filled with grief 
and the weight of your absence. 
I told you secrets, 
the ones I swore to bury 
and if only secrets were seeds
your grave would be a blooming garden.
now, I am a body of scars
each stitch a soft whisper of your name
piecing together parts of me
shattered by your departure.
"flowers look good on you",
I remember saying these words
as I crowned your auburn hair 
with emerald green flower garlands
"flowers still look good on you", I say
as I let the petals fall
freely on your grave with tears
its floral scent lingering on my palm like guilt
because, years from now, I'll forget 
the sultry sound of your voice
and that terrifies me 
even more than this silence 
and even as I write this
the pages still smell like you—musky
with your favorite coffee cup 
still sitting on the shelf
now, you only exist in my memories 
and the beauty in all this is
you are worth it.
worth everything.





 

Mercy Emmanuel Oluwayanmife, is a creative writer from Kogi. She studies Nursing at Federal University Lokoja. She reads and vibes to music when not writing or making memories to later on write about. Find her on X @Oluwayanmiifee.