The Gardener of Unspoken Things

At dusk, Elian gathered the words people had swallowed and planted them beneath the black flowers. Sorry grew blue and delicate. Stay became a vine that curled around the moonlit stones. Once, a child brought her a whole pocketful of laughter, saved from a house where nobody smiled anymore. By morning, the garden was bright with tiny golden bells. Elian did not ask who had rung them. Some happiness prefers to arrive without witnesses.