At the Tomb

It was still dark as her day started.  And her mood inside matched the darkness without.

It was over.  It had failed.  She had told herself not to have trusted or given it hope in the first place.  Life always had its way of throwing it back in her face.  Soon enough squelching any hope or happiness she had found.

And so here she was again.  Sad.  Disappointed.  Alone.

And in that dark, empty place They returned.

“Who is here for you now?  Who actually cares about you?”

“Ha, ‘Cares!?’  Does anyone actually know your name?”

“What do I care of what they think of me anyways?” She retorted.  No response, except the tinge of despair upon her own heart telling her that she did care.  It did hurt.

“You are unknown.  You are unloved.  Give up, give in.  It’s over for you.”

“NO!”  She shouted aloud.  Startling herself with the outburst.  “But oh, why can’t I keep such strength or hope inside?”  She sighed to herself deep inside.

“Oh, why is it this way?  Oh why has it never worked out for me?”

She began to feel herself sinking down.  Her body became weary.  The dark, heavy fog beginning to enter her mind again.   

“Woman,” a voice inquired.  “Woman,” its tenor and tone piercing the dark fog.

“Why are you crying?  Who is it you are looking for?”

She began to speak, then thought to herself, “Where would I even begin?  How could this stranger ever understand?”

She put her head back down, turning the back of her shoulders towards the man.

And then his voice again.  And this time it did not simply pierce the fog, it obliterated it.

“Mary.”