He
Closes his eyes and counts to ten
One for every mile
Praying that everything will be okay

She
Chokes alone behind her bedroom door
Words cutting into her skin
Sobbing alone into her pillow

It's called love and, defined by Mr. Webster:
It is "a feeling of strong or constant affection for a person"
But for some people, it's much more than a word

It's a feeling of lazily talking in the early morning
It's a feeling of "I'll never be left behind"
It's a feeling of "I feel I've found my place"
It's a feeling of "Someone finally cares"

But what do you do when you find that thing called love
And you want to string it on fairy lights around your room
But someone tries to take it away?

She
Crosses her fingers and hopes for the best
Asking, knowing she'll only get denial,
Cursing silently under her breath

He
Wishes he could take away all the bad in the world
Looking longingly in a fixed direction
He wants to string up fairy lights