Round and round by iamgeecee

They never argued. Angelica never saw the purpose in it, really. They had been away from one another for so long and she had written him methodically over that period of time. About the distance, about his presence even in his longest absence, about her parents and their frequent conversations about a future marriage between them both. It was semi-arranged, she had always known, and yet it hardly bothered her (when they were younger they used to have lessons together in an apricot-colored room with a fan that turned round and round). And so she didn't see a point in arguing. She was content. Are you happy?, they would ask her, Are you happy with Sebastian? Why yes, she would think, and she would say they were content (after their first kiss, awkward, on the balcony of the ballroom salon, they had played long, concentrated card games to the sound of the Bach cello suites spinning round and round, over and over on the gramophone. She had a passion for the cello. Sebastian barely had an interest in music). And so after he returned they got married, Sebastian and Angelica, in a lovely religious ceremony. She didn't care in the least for religion, yet he was adamant about it, so why ever not?, she thought (during the time he was gone Angelica acquired the habit of opening the window to let in the ever-so-soft yet unpredictable breeze that kissed the wild flowers and the tall grass of the country. She often turned off the fan). They married, and it was beautiful indeed, and she smiled to herself on their wedding night when she spotted careless stains of a piece of dessert or a drop of wine on his white shirt as he reached for the clasps on the back of her dress. What?, he had said, somewhat bothered. Nothing...it just...well, it brings back memories, she said (on the day he returned she had spent hours on end in front of the washing machine as his dirty travel clothes spun and tumbled back and forth, round and round amid bubbles of detergent and forgotten coins and little scribbled notes. He had been out with some friends). And now they sat on opposite ends of the bed, his vacant gaze on her as she told him a thing or two about her day, or some scheduled plan for tomorrow evening. He is a good man, my Sebastian, she thought. They never argued. He unbuttoned his coat and took off his socks. The window was closed shut. They never argued. And yet she felt the urge to tell him, quite urgently, while holding him across from her by the shoulders, about his absence in his closest presence. They got into bed. Good night Angelica. They never argued. Good night Sebastian. (And in the dark, like every other night, Angelica fell asleep to the impossibly discrete sound of the fan turning round and round, incessantly round and round). Round and round. Round and round it went.