silver springs {h.s. au}

"i know there's nothing left to say"

March 2018

Days in London passed slower than Willow remembered. Not in a bad way, more in the sense, everything was calmer. Her life was no longer dictated by a demanding schedule and looming deadlines. Emails about tour dates and promo events. The days passed since Willow had stepped out of Heathrow and with each one, Willow felt more herself than she had in years. Spending her time revisiting all the places she used to love in the city. The bakery on the block behind her flat, Willow was pleased to find out they still had the best chocolate croissant she had ever tasted. There was the park nearby where Willow had spent countless sunny days stretched out on a blanket in the grass. Willow had a list of places to stop by and reacquaint herself with, but often Willow simply wandered the city. Walking down the familiar streets, memorising the way the pub lights glowed like jewels in the night, closing her eyes and listening to the dull buzz of all the cars and people. California had been quiet. Too quiet. But London, with all its noise and mess and chaos, was home.

As she walked through the city, Willow felt like she had left pieces of herself scattered throughout London. And now, she was finally going around and picking them up, piece by piece.

Currently, Willow found herself curled up on the window seat in her flat. Looking out onto all the people on the sidewalk below. Rain slipped down the window as she watched them scurry around with their black umbrellas. The city was waking up all around Willow, and something about it made Willow feel like today was the day.

Standing up, she set her mug back down on the table and walked over to her guitar case. It leant against the wall in the exact place Willow had placed it when she walked into the flat nearly a week ago. Untouched, unmoved. The case seemed heavier in her hands as she hauled it over to the couch. Metal snaps cool against her fingers as Willow flipped them open. The case still creaked the same way it always had and something about that made her smile.

Because Willow couldn't even remember the last time she had played her guitar.

It was one thing to play an unfamiliar guitar that gleamed under studio lights. This one though, this was personal. Rosewood shone as Willow brushed her hands over the strings. Memories of staring at it in the shop window down in Camden, all the odd jobs she had worked, cash in the jar on the kitchen counter, until finally Willow had enough to walk into the shop and buy it. This was the guitar Willow had written her first songs on, played in the park, held close to her chest as she walked up on a pub stage for the first time with three boys -the guitar her hands danced along as she played for thousands with those same three boys.

Everything about being back in London seemed a delicate process. At times, Willow felt as if she was holding onto a fine thread. One threatening to snap at any moment. So far, the string held strong. Nothing had snapped when Willow stepped off the plane, or walked into the studio, when she had seen Alex and Liam, picked up a guitar for the first time in years, it hadn't even snapped when she found an old Rolling Stones t-shirt in a box. Not even when Willow saw Harry.

Biting down on her lip, Willow concentrated as she twisted the tuners. Tightening the strings as she balanced her guitar carefully on her legs. Willow pressed her fingers against each string, testing the sound. In a way, the feel of the string cutting into her fingertips was comforting, familiar. A quiet Nosie filled the room as Willow pulled her hand across the strings. Every note vibrating through her body.

Willow's eyes drifted shut as her fingers flew across the strings, faster and faster. Each note sending flashing images through her head. How Harry had looked at her that first morning. The look on his face as Willow walked out of the house. The blank expression on his face when he walked into the studio and found her there.