I asked the Lord, how long does it take to build a mansion?
Or really just a room.
For the hands that build the galaxies.
Because my heart is troubled and the walk feels long.
And I wonder.
How long? How long does it take to build a mansion?

My own heart echoed.
How long was three days?
Three whole days.
For the Maker of days.
Was it a thousand years?
Or was it a day?
Did time fold on itself in the tomb?
Did it warp as some days warp inwards?
Did it swallow all of time like a black hole consuming all in its path, leaving behind hollow?
Was it dark?
Dark, like the kind that swallows light into nothing?
Was it lonely? Did it tear His heart in two?
Did the distance echo as far as the East is from the West?
Did Heaven tremble like the earth shook with the weight of pain?

I don’t know how long it takes to build a mansion.
For the Maker of time.
I don’t know, how much of me needs to die still.
So that, that which is alive can live.
But I do know.
Three days is what it takes
For my days to be wrapped in the hand of the One
That holds all of Time.