All I've ever wanted to be is a writer but I've never had inspiration. No adventures to spin into fairy tales, no amazing secrets, no influential role model, so for years all I've had in front of me is an empty page waiting for something to happen. And last night something finally did.

Damn, I thought. The subway I was riding on had lurched to an unexpected stop and the pen in my right hand jerked across the page, slicing through my latest attempts at a story. I slipped the pen behind my ear and tore the paper roughly out of sketching notepad, my dark hair falling over my shoulder hiding my grey eyes from the passengers.

I pushed it back impatiently, leaning my head back and squeezing my eyes shut in frustration. I wasn't even that bothered that my pen had ruined my writing because that paragraph hadn't even been true. Nothing ever did happen to me. I was just a boring university student; staying with her extended family in London "to see the world" my mother had put it. I could just tell that my listless meanderings around the house had been driving her crazy so she had shipped me off to my uncle and aunt's.

My body leaned to the side as again the train jolted to a halt. While I was two stops away from my destination, my favorite coffee shop, I joined the stream of people leaving the train.

I trekked up the stairs into the dim sunlight and turned the volume up on my iPod smiling slightly at John Lennon's crooning. I never understood how some people had such concentrated amounts of talent and I couldn't even fill a simple notebook with my thoughts.

I made my way across the street, studying the grey sky searching for the sun. I walked until my bag slipped down my shoulder and I had to pause for a moment to settle it back on my shoulder. Still pondering the sky I didn't hear the shouting until it was accompanied with a firm but gentle hand on my shoulder.

I turned around, pulling out an ear bud to stare questioningly at the guy in front of me. My eyes took in his flash of ginger hair, the beautiful blue eyes, and his familiar smile.

"Hey, it's Avery right?" he looked slightly hesitant, obviously hoping that he hadn't made a mistake about my identity.

"Yeah that's me! Do I know you? You look really familiar," I trailed off trying to place his face in my mind.

"Yeah I'm friends with Morgan, I think we might have shared a drink or two at one of her parties," he winked at me.

I laughed and took my other ear bud out, "Most likely but I'm sorry I don't remember your name?"

The guy stuck his hand out jovially, "Sorry I'm Ed Sheeran. I really just stopped you because you dropped this." He opened his left hand and revealed the piece of paper I had crumpled up on the train.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at my latest writing failure clutched in his hand.

"Thanks," I muttered and took it front him; making a mental note to shove it in the first trash can I saw.

I looked back to Ed who shoved his hands in his orange hoodie. Looking at me with a calming steadiness he said, "So what's up? You seem… preoccupied."

"It's nothing really, just frustrated…" I trailed off but Ed didn't say anything, just continued smiling at me so I stared right back, crossing my arms in front of me.

He finally spoke, "Are you going to tell me what it is?"

I hesitated but in the end shook my head, "No, I don't want to bore you."

"C'mon Avery, sure you don't know me very well but what've you got to lose?" Ed shifted towards me, his right hand readjusting the strap of his guitar case that was tight across his chest, "Just tell me! Maybe I can help?"

I shrugged and smiled up at him, "Well I guess you could say I've had writer's block my entire life."

"Hmm sounds like you haven't found your inspiration? It took me a while to find mine."

I raised an eyebrow at him and he gestured at his guitar in answer, "My music? Wow you really don't remember anything about the last time we talked."

I hid my embarrassed blush by pretending to readjust my bag, "Sorry. What's your inspiration?"

As Ed opened his mouth, a rumbling came from the sky, we looked up simultaneously to see the dim sunlight was gone replaced by dark grey clouds.

"Hey why don't we talk about it over coffee, given the choice I'd prefer to stay dry," Ed replied to me as he flipped up his hood hiding his hair.

We started walking quickly towards my regular coffee shop that I could just make out two streets away. We were yards away when with a clap of thunder, rain began pouring down.

"Only in London," I muttered and was graced by an amused chuckle from Ed.

…

"Now what were you asking?" Ed asked me as we sat on two soft leather chairs in the back of the shop. I finished ringing the last of the water out of my hair before reiterating my question.

"What's your inspiration? Do you have a muse or something?" I leaned forward concentrating on him, desperately wanting to know anything that might make it easy to fill a page with decent stories.

Ed paused and brought his hand up to rub the ginger scruff on his jaw thoughtfully, "Well some of my songs are about stories or people but a lot of them just come to me."

"Lucky," I mumbled jealously and he shot an amused glance at me.

"I'm sure you have stories Avery, you're just trying too hard to get them on paper. Do you ever just sit and let your mind carry you to where it wants to go? That's what I do."

I slowly shook my head, reevaluating Ed. I had never heard his music and had just assumed it was some typical indie rock music but the way his words flowed like poetry in simple conversation had me second guessing my earlier judgment.

"Could you- um would you mind playing a song for me? I'd love to hear something," I said nervously, not quite certain he would want to.

Ed raised his eyebrows and gave a quick yes, pulling his guitar out of the case and cocking his head to the side slightly as he began to tune it.

Tweaking a string he looked at me, "How about while I'm playing you try and just let your mind show you what it wants to do alright?"

I nodded, what harm could it do? So I pulled out my notebook and pen and waited patiently for Ed to begin playing and when he did, I couldn't concentrate on anything else.

He was quiet for a moment, finding the chords he wanted before taking a deep breath and strumming lightly and quietly so as not to disturb the other customers.

As Ed's voice reached me I imagined words and lyrics floating out of his mouth, fingers, and guitar in all different shades of color mixing into a beautiful melody.

I studied the steady curve of his jaw slightly masked by his beard, the way his shoulders framed the guitar cradled in his arms and my pencil began to move across the page. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him so I never looked at the page in front of me; just let my pencil swiftly record all that I saw.

The sureness of Ed's fingers, the movement of his lips as he formed his original lyrics, and his eyes lighting up in the sheer enjoyment of music. I tried to capture it all, not wanting the moment to slip by and when the song ended with a final sweetly sung lyric I struggled to catch my breath and return to the normal world he had taken me from.

I set down my notebook and leaned forward towards Ed, "That was… just so amazing and inspiring. I can't even describe how grateful I am that you played a song for me."

I waited for him to respond but my words seemed to be lost on him because his focus was on my notebook. As he reached for the pad, I looked down suddenly wary of what I had written. What if what my mind had shown me was still as mediocre as my other failed attempts?

But what I saw was far different than my scrawling on the train, I had drawn Ed. I had drawn him just as I had seen him with his melodies floating around him in a hazy cloud of perfection, putting him in sharper detail. You could see the light in his eyes, the lyrics wrapped around his fingers and the neck of the guitar, everything that had been perfect about that fleeting moment was now recorded on my notebook.

I reached out in disbelief to my drawing and let my fingers graze the pencil strokes.

I lifted my eyes to Ed's face and looking into his bright eyes asked incredulously, "W-what just happened?"

Returning his guitar to his back and standing up he smiled down at me, "What happened Avery, I hope, is that you just realized that you've always been talented but that it just needed a bit of coaxing to show itself. I'll see you later love."

With a swift and friendly kiss on my cheek, Ed disappeared onto the damp London street, leaving me hugging my drawing with a smile spreading across my face.

Never again would I have to worry that I wasn't good enough or inspired as others, I might not be a writer like I always imagined but a picture is worth a thousand words.