The door was wide open when I pulled up the driveway. She hadn’t come back for months. I wondered why now?

Prissy and I were together for a long time. A lot can happen in 5 years, and a partner for that long would surely see it all. We broke up on and off, but for 5 years, I was undoubtedly hers. Prissy and Me. That wasn’t a question.

Priscilla was a gun, and I was the provider of the bullets. She was a burnt out wood pile, and I was the match to kindle her fury. Her and I were fire on fire, growing and growing with every moment spent. Only, this fire didn’t burn out without the destruction of a home on the way. Of our home. We weren’t meant to love.

There were plenty of good times. Prissy and I went to Latte Shoppe, the local coffee shop, every Sunday morning. She wore a summer dress, with the same white cardigan and white beach hat every time. Maybe she was back to get those.

I hadn’t noticed how long I had been pondering our unlovable love. I returned back to reality by the beeping of my car telling me I needed to put my seatbelt on. I turned it off.

The walk up to my house from my car felt years and years long. I thought about it all. What was I going to say? There wasn’t anything to say with the way we left things. There was also no more time to think as I approached the steps. Here goes everything.

The sound of sobbing and shredding paperback echoed from the hall, and I was instantly reminded of what it felt like when the good times faded. When we got home, our coffee downed, her hat and cardigan off. Hung up to use the next Sunday.

“Quit! You didn’t!” She sighed between deep breaths , sobs sneaking in occasionally. Her face was brought to a sudden calm as she realized I was standing in my bedroom doorframe; and I had been watching her for moments. Her ocean blue eyes met mine, and she immediately hid her face in her hands. It was almost as if she assumed that if she couldn’t see me, I couldn’t see her.

“I have a few questions.” I broke the silence after minutes of her sobs and pants slithering up my neck into my ears.

“I’m sure. A lot was left unanswered.”

She finally stood to her feet, wiping her eyes and rubbing her temples. “I mean, yes. But I was referring to the fact that you broke into my home, and—“

“Your home?”

Her face didn’t break, but I could see her eyes gloom and her mouth quiver.

“Priscilla, this became my home a long time ago.”

She scoffed, and I was finally able to look down at what had been ripped. My drawing.

I broke this time. Prissy had drawn me two cats knitting a yarn ball in to a heart when we were in 4th grade. I was the weirdo, she was the prissy popular princess. Hence the nickname. Everyone made fun of her for it, but her confidence was persistent. I went straight home and framed it. The same frame. And she ripped it.

“How— how could you do this?” I yelled falling to the floor. The paper had been ripped down the middle. Straight down the yarn heart.

“It’s a metaphor.” She mumbled.

I looked into her eyes.

“I did that to the heart on the paper. You did that to the heart in my chest.”

I stood, about to say more. She stormed through my left shoulder, grabbed her purse, and slammed the door behind her. That door opened just as fast as it shut.

She stormed right back in, her purse dropping carelessly. She grabbed my arm and pulled me in. I could feel the anger leaving her body in her kiss.

When she pulled away, I bent to get the paper. Reaching in her purse, I pulled out her scotch tape. She always had everything handy. I’ve always found that really cute.

I carefully taped the paper back down the middle, reviving the heart of yarn.

“I fixed this heart, and I’ll fix yours. I love you, Prissy.”

She took the paper from me, embracing me once more.

“I love you, Red. It hurts, but I do.”

We held each other for hours and hours more. Just me and Prissy. Fire on fire.