bird of a different feather
"I was broken when I met you."
That's what he told me.
No. He was more like this magnificent, rare orange bird I found thrifting. Turned on it's side, under a bunch of junk and just odd enough that it hadn't attracted any attention on the shelf yet.
I grabbed it as soon as I saw it. Something that didn't belong just anywhere. Fragile. It looked like the sort of thing that should be in a pair, but I searched the whole store and couldn't find a mate.
I carefully checked it over, looking for flaws. I found the teeniest place where a fleck of gold was gone, missing a bit of luster and brightness, but other than that, perfect. Not broken at all.