Ed Sheeran - One Shots

Wait for me to come home

The summer of 2011 was the hottest summer I ever had experienced in London. We went from store to store looking for a fan, but they were all sold out. The humid air combined with the smog gave us a mission for the summer; to cool off. My dad's new wife had a summerhouse in Southampton and they decided to spend the summer there. So one night he sat me down and told me that they were going and at first I thought that they would make me go with them, but then he gave me a list of rules and asked if I wanted to stay London. Being the teenager I was, I said yes, and on the first of June, they left. So I had the entire apartment to myself and it felt like forever. 

A week passed and the place got properly run in. All of my friends had slept on the sofa and I had gotten used to the mess that came after a week of sleepovers and spontaneous parties. So when he played me the album for the first time, I was sitting on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles and forgotten shirts. He sat in front of me, next to the speakers, and he didn't look me in the eyes the whole time. When the last tone had faded out, he finally looked up. "They are going to give out the album. And I'm going on tour with it, to promote and preform." "When?" "In September." That's all we said about the album because summer felt endless and infinite and September would always be in the future. At least that's what I told myself. We had only known each other for about a month and that's not much in the grand scheme of things. Only enough time to meet up after school and spend hours in the park. Only enough time to make me smile every time I saw him. Only enough time to build something in a summer haze and then watch it rip apart when he has to leave because it's not enough time to build a real relationship, something worth staying for. Not when his dreams are starting to come true.

So we do what anyone would do. We have parties and dance until the neighbors threaten to call the police. We stay in and drink bad coffee and pretend to be adults. We watch movies and fall asleep on the sofa. We cry to sad love songs and walk home in the middle of the night because we can't afford a ticket to the tube and we kiss and try to escape the heat and pretend that September never will arrive and that he'll never leave. Sometimes I can hear him whisper on the phone, making plans with his record label. But then he hangs up and I go back to sleep and then I forget about it because it's so easy to.

On the 26th of August, the cafe with the best air conditioner shut down. On the 28th of August, my dad calls to remind me that they're coming home in a week. On the 29th of August, the heat is for a moment bearable. On the 2nd of September, there is a packed suitcase in the hall and I don't know what to do with myself. I walk out of my room and he is standing with his back to me, but when he hears me he turns around. I see a teenage boy that technically isn't a teenager any more. Messy red hair, blue eyes and a hoodie. I walk up to him and wrap my arms around him, squeeze and never want to let go. He kisses me and he smells like nothing but himself and my entire body collapse and I never want to let go. Then I let go and he looks me deep in the eyes and I take in his presence for the last time and he turns around, grabs his bag, opens the door and walks out.

On the 2nd of September 2014 I'm in my car on my way to my boyfriends house in Brighton. The radio is on and people are calling in to request songs. A girl comes on the line and she asks to hear Photograph by Ed Sheeran. I don't jump at the mentioning of his name. I've heard his music, seen him on tv. But when the chorus sets in, I have to slow the car down. The lyrics hit me right in the stomach and I pull over at a lay-by. So you can keep me inside the pocket of your ripped jeans, holding me closer 'til our eyes meet, and you will never be alone. And I remember the pair of blue jeans in the bottom of my drawer, with the faded picture in the back pocket. I remember it so clearly were our eyes were never closing, hearts were never broken and time's forever frozen still. And my chest is caving in wait for me to come home but he never came home. I remember the neckless my dad got me for my 16th birthday next to your heartbeat where I should be but I don't have a picture in it when I'm away, I will remember how you kissed me, under the lamppost back on 6th street, hearing you whisper through the phone "wait for me to come home".