silver springs {h.s. au}

"time cast a spell on you"

March 2019

It was raining when Willow's flight landed in London.

The kind of rain that had settled over the city for days. Endless grey skies blanketed the city. And it was so cold, Willow wrapped herself in her coat even tighter as she stepped out of the airport to get a cab. Address rolling off her tongue like second nature as she spoke to the driver. Speeding through the city, everything blurred around Willow. Glass glittered from the buildings downtown, as they hung above her. Homes stacked in rows. Grey, murky waves of the Thames as they drove across the bridge. Willow drummed her fingers against the case of her guitar, smile breaking across her face.

A year ago, Willow had been in a cab much like this. Tracing the rain as it slipped down the window. Head a mess and stomach in her throat. Chest clenched tightly enough to keep the pieces of her heart held together. Fear and uncertainty knotted together like her hands had been. A year ago, Willow had wanted to get back on a plane and fly far away. Let her photos and memories scatter into the wind and sink into the river.

Life had a way of coming back around.

Noticing the street they were on, Willow scrolled through her phone to send a few quick messages. One by one letting the people she loved know she was back home. Confirm an appointment with Jane later that week. Respond to a text from Alex. Catch up on the group message between them all. And as Willow tipped the cab driver and got her bag and guitar out of the back, the repeated buzz in her back pocket was familiar and welcome.

Careful to avoid the puddles that had formed. Willow walked through the front door, waved to the doorman, and made her way up to the third floor.

The key stuck a bit in the door, and Willow had to shove her shoulder against it to get the door open. It was a quirk she had grown accustomed to. Boots laid scattered on the floor and Willow swore softly when she stumbled over one. A bright coloured candle that had been left burning filled the living room with a warm scent. Willow leant over and blew it out, watching as the smoke circled up into the air.

Dropping her bag on the floor, Willow kicked off her own boots. She shrugged her coat and sweater off, leaving her in nothing but a t-shirt, leggings, and socks that were too big for her and probably Harry's. Footsteps echoed softly as she padded through the flat. Grey light poured in through the curtains, as Willow peered out to the street below. A stillness that could only come from that early in the morning still blanketed the city.

A familiar leather jacket hung over the back of the sofa. Willow picked it up and brought it to her face. Cool leather brushed against her cheek and it smelled like Harry.

The flat was so different than the one Willow had first walked into so many months ago. She could remember the sheepish look on Harry's face when she had first come over. Blank white walls and wide windows. Cold and impersonal. The only thing that had felt like Harry had been the piano in the corner and the boots by the door.

Now, it was filled with all the things Harry loved. Eccentric and a bit chaotic. Candles covered empty spaces and records filled the shelves. Rugs and colourful paintings that Harry and Willow had spent hours roaming London galleries for. Photos covered the mantle and the walls, even the refrigerator was covered in them and weird little magnets. It was a home now, it was Harry's home.

Willow set the jacket back onto the back of the sofa and moved into the small kitchen. Once she had filled the teapot, Willow set it on the burner and waited. Leaning against the counter she looked over all the photos that filled the refrigerator.

There was the row of photo booth photos. Black and white. Five people crammed into a booth. Smiles on their faces and Alex in a white dress. Up a ways was a photo taken at the wedding, just of Willow and Harry. Flowers in her hair as they had swayed to music the band had played. A few photos were of the four of them in the studio, some old and some new. And then there was the worn polaroid; wrinkled and faded with time, and still Willow's favourite photo of her and Harry.