What we were made of

You were fire, and so was I. We were both red, but our hearts were blue. You were brought up from the ground. Your father was hard, but never there emotionally. Your mother was weak, but she wanted someone to understand. Her rants were just cries of help. I was brought up from the sea. My mother was a hurricane. Unstoppable and dangerous. My father was the wind. Passive and never there. When we met, we made purple. But the purple faded and now all we are is grey.