Imperfect flower

Last Friday I was walking back home from the library when I realized that just beside the road, thousands of little flowers were breaking the green of the fields.

And I stopped and took one of them, the one that I thought to be the most beautiful. I don't really know why I chose that one; maybe the flower chose me. I don't know, maybe it was mutual.

Actually that is not really important.

When I had it in my hand I saw that not all the petals were yellow. Some of them were but at least two of them were half white and other two petals were broken.

But still was the most beautiful flower. It had something special that kept my attention and still does because I took it home and is here, with me; my beautiful imperfect flower.

Is something real in the imperfect things that makes them special, beautiful, unique.

Btw, the flower, even real, was just an example