Sleep story · water, slow
A boat at anchor (a sleep story), when you have already had a long week — for a restless night
A small harbour, a rope that creaks, and a boat that moves about a metre in the night.
Lights off. Press begin and let the story read itself to you, at the pace of sleep.
Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.
The story, in full
Nothing out here is in a rush, and neither are you. The cabin is low, and you have to bend your head to get into the bunk. Through the hatch you can see one star, and then the mast crossing it.
The bunk is narrow, and you have the whole of it. The water slaps against the side in twos and threes. The rope to the anchor creaks as the boat turns very slightly.
Your chest can be still now. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
There is a torch hanging by the hatch, and a chart folded on the table. The harbour is behind you, with three lights still on and the rest dark.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself. If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back.
Let the mattress take all of it. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Stay. Sleep.
Just the breath. Let your breathing do the rest. Just the weight.
Long weeks are cumulative. This is a small subtraction.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for water, slow.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a lake before dawn, after eating too much — for waking too early, A library at closing time, when you have more time than usual — for winding down or An attic room (a sleep story), when the weather has kept you inside — for waking too early.