Everyone deserves a second chance, but not you. Last night, you made a promise to the Lord Jesus that you would cease your sophistry, not to anyone else but to yourself. After sharing your pledge with the entire town, your weary face surrendered to slumber, much like a door on its hinge. You were there when everything crumbled into the roughest of ashes, powerless to prevent it, and your tears offered no solace. You retreated to your bed, burying your troubled face in the cosy yet desolate expanse of the king-sized bed.
When everything still held value, you let it slip through your grasp, carried away by the winds. Vivian tried to make you understand, my dear Vivian, but your heroic quest kept you from removing the plugs from your ears. Your therapist called every week, and Vivian made excuses for your absence. Did you appreciate her for that? You wanted to prove Professor Theodore wrong, but in the end, you only proved him right—you are but an eccentric with nothing the indifferent world deems worthy of concern.
You locked yourself in that workshop for extended hours, far longer than you realize. You changed engine oils, tightened bolts, and repeatedly disassembled the robotic metal, all while forgetting how Vivian struggled to feed both herself and your unborn child. She did it all on her own, enduring your prolonged absence. Initially, she believed your need for solitude, but it soon became apparent that you no longer considered it relevant. To disprove the world’s calumny, you dismissed them, only to realize that nobody waits for such unfulfilled promises.
Your father-in-law’s frustration was an added insult to injury, understandably so. But how could you have been so consumed by your heroic venture that you disrespected the people around you? Bode, do you remember how she brought you dinner, and you didn’t eat it? It wounded her pride deeply, and unable to bear your indifference any longer, she departed. She cried for nights, but you wept only for a night after losing your child—the child who could have spoken all languages, just as your robot could, but who was silenced forever.
You worked for big companies, but managing and directing were not your forte, so you returned to the university to study mechanical engineering. Bode, that’s when your problems began. A flickering flame became an uncontrollable blaze. Your savings dwindled as you pursued your newfound dream, rendering you unable to provide for your family. A ridiculous sacrifice was made, and Vivian endured it all. She didn’t call you on those painful days, and your obsession with your dream prevented you from noticing.
Now, your life’s work has gone up in flames. You carelessly mixed petrol and paraffin, and the welding fire ignited. You left the flames too close to the kerosene, and fate, not out of love for you, saving you from the fire, revealing the destruction of your dream. You trembled and jumped off the bench, running like a deer in the crosshairs. Your clothes suffered a minor burn, but you extinguished it. Standing outside like a soldier, you watched as your life project went up in flames, realizing that the world has no heroes. The blazing metal scraped your forehead, leaving a lasting mark.
Vivian left on the last Friday of February, and you couldn’t even hold her back, as though you despised her. She hastily removed all her belongings from the house and loaded them into a German truck, and you merely watched. She wept, and you cried, but your emotions were absent. She glanced back at you twice, expecting you to react, but you remained silent. The truck departed from your street, and you turned your back to return to the workshop—what a life!
It has been months since you last entered the room, but now that your project is no more, you find yourself returning to the space. When Vivian left, you didn’t think to check for any items she might have left behind, or an emotional letter she might have written, as your ego and heroic venture had kept you buried in levity, neglecting all that truly mattered. Even though your project was important, there was a better way to pursue it.
After lying motionless for a considerable time with your face buried in the bedsheets, you discovered a pamphlet bearing Vivian’s handwriting, addressed to you. It read, “Jesus, your burden bearer.” You read it repeatedly, and then, the message became clear—Vivian couldn’t bear your burden any longer, so she entrusted you to Christ, hoping you would stay. You lifted yourself from the bed and made your way to the bathroom.