silver springs {h.s. au}

"pick up your pieces and go home"

i heard our song the other day. i put the record on and i guess i forgot that, that song was on it. or maybe i didn't, i don't know. but i was pouring a cup of coffee and i heard it and i didn't really know what to do. is this how we end? is this the closest we will be now? how did you become just some old song on a scratched record?

-w.r.

March 2018

Willow needed a shot of whiskey. In fact, she felt sure enough to say she had never needed a drink so badly in her entire life, than she did right in this moment.

The clouds outside the window had cleared slightly as the plane cut through them. Then, outside of her fogged up window, London appeared. With all its buildings and tiny cars that were speeding along the motorways that weaved themselves around the city. The light from the grey skies reflecting off of the river. Willow thought it would have felt warm or familiar coming back. London was a place she had known like the back of her hand, it was home.

As she watched some of the rain trickle down the window Willow realized she didn't feel warm at all. Coming back to London left her feeling cold. There wasn't any warmth left in this place anymore she didn't think. London had once been home but it wasn't anymore, all London made her feel now was cold and aware of just how alone she was.

Fumbling with her seat belt she checked to make sure it was locked. It was. She reached down and pulled her phone out of her bag to turn it off. No messages.

It shouldn't surprise her but somehow it did. No one, besides a few people at the label even knew she was coming back. Not that they would want to talk to her even if they did know she was coming home. Willow hadn't spoken to anyone from London since she left.

That shot of whiskey was sounding better and better.

The crowds of people in the terminal were all pressing against each other, trying to hurry their way through. Willow looked around at some of their faces, the eagerness of being home or just wanting to get through customs. Occasionally some would throw looks at her over their shoulders. Curious eyes that would run over the girl walking so slowly, weighed down with all her luggage. Willow ducked her head when she met a few people's eyes. For the most part they ignored her, and Willow found she really didn't mind that.

She could feel the strap of her guitar case cutting into her shoulder as she stumbled forward to the customs desk. She handed over her battered looking passport, watching the girl that was working flip through all the pages that were littered with stamps. Willow saw her skip back to the front, her eyes darting from the name on the passport back up to her.

"Oh, hi, hello," she spoke quickly, clearly taken off guard.

"Hi." Willow forced a tired smile on her face. "How are you?"

"Good, yeah good," the girl shook her head a bit before she stamped Willow's passport, handing it back over the counter. "Um, you probably get this all the time but I loved King's Row, still listen to you guy's last album."

"Oh, right." Willow choked out, coughing a bit to clear her voice. "Thank you, really, thank you that means a lot."

"Welcome back to London!" She shouted out as Willow moved away from the lines, stopping only to smile and wave back to the girl working the booth. Recognition was something Willow had forgotten about. Over a year of living away from the public had caused her to forget how it felt.

Willow reached up a hand to shove her hat further down on her head and weaved through the clusters of people hovering near the arrivals gate. Excitement practically bouncing off the walls. Enough for Willow to feel the pulse of it through the crowds. Conversations were loud around her; the business types talking shit about money and stocks, a couple of kids with massive backpacks and hands clutching onto a travel book, families with people waiting for them with signs in hand.