TO THE WONDER - ANNE WITH AN E
IT'S HARD TO HEAR, THE DISTANT VOICE. IT WOULD RING SO CLEAR IF WE COULD ONLY TUNE OUT THE NOISE| Arabella Hastings, the golden girl of Avonlea has come back from a year off and mistery surrounds her. What kind of chal...
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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄𖣔༄ Gilbert's crossroads
Song of the chapter To the Wonder by Aqualung _______•________
As children, one sees everything with innocence. As if one saw angels showing them that there is something good in everything.
Gilbert held that concept so closely that it was terrifying. Bella complemented him like a piece of a puzzle, with an incomparable sweetness and a singularly strong character.
In spite of the fact that they had once been in an obligation supported by forces far superior to themselves, this had never been an impediment to their development of the bond they shared in the present. Tender, gentle, selfless, sincere and above all, a genuine bond of incorruptible strength.
Once, at a tender age, Gilbert had taken Bella to the cliffs. He had sat her on the beach, among the sparse vegetation and the sand that filtered through the holes in her shoes. Bella was still that spontaneous child at the dawn of the happiest years of her life, and there was little to stop her from motivating herself to do something out of the ordinary. She had taken off the protection of her feet, a pair of tiny cream-colored boots with a decorative fabric of roses in crimson and gold thread that must have cost a fortune, and she had dipped those tiny toes into the sand dunes. The feeling still languished in her mind, the thousands of tiny grains of sand against the exposed, tender skin, scraping away and leaving a line of unbroken memories.
Gilbert had opened his eyes widely to the tiny but well crafted work that was that precious shoes. Bella was not a person who pitied the situations of others in an attempt to be a vile, ill-intentioned person who strutted about her superior situation, but she was a person who gave so little relevance to small details that it was easy for her to get rid of things since the mundane things seemed not to deserve her affection. It was not charity, it was her essence.
"Keep them" she had asked him, "You can keep them in your closet, or do whatever you want"
"No, I can't accept it," Gilbert had insisted.
"It's a gift," said Bella with a gentle smile, "Friends give each other gifts from time to time"
"I have never given you a gift, Bella" Gilbert had pointed out.
"You are a fool," she had said, denying such incredulity on his part, "You give me a gift every day, your company obviously"
Bella had always found it difficult to form friendships and at most, relationships in general. Not because she was a withdrawn and uniquely antisocial child that such art was a clear impediment to her, but because she could not deepen her understanding of the people with whom she was constantly in contact. People who were haughty, closed, highly courteous and unimaginative. People her mother called: our kind. People who, no matter how hard she tried to establish a depth of intimacy, it was a task of impossible difficulty. It was difficult to fix her interest in the superficial.
