This is a short story I wrote a few years ago, which has stuck at the edge of my memory since. Jason heard the mail fall onto the floor in the hall, so he took his coffee to collect them. He scanned through the envelopes as he returned to the kitchen. Among the normal bills was one with swirling blue hand written address, though it wasn't his usual address. It spoke of the colour of his soul and the number of plants he kept trapped inside. The script glittered and the handmade paper wriggled in his grip.