Periwinkle grew along the edge of the driveway, her tiny blue flowers tucked between cracks in the pavement. The gardener called her a weed. The other flowers whispered behind her back.
“You don’t belong here,” the roses said.
Periwinkle looked at her thin stem, her small petals. “Maybe they’re right,” she whispered.
One afternoon, a heavy rain washed soil across the driveway, burying Periwinkle’s roots. She couldn’t breathe. She began to wilt.
A young boy running home from school saw the blue petals struggling in the mud. He knelt down and gently brushed the dirt away.
“You’re