Sleep story · water, slow
A boat at anchor — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have been putting it off — 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
The cabin is low, and you have to bend your head to get into the bunk. The harbour is behind you, with three lights still on and the rest dark. The rope to the anchor creaks as the boat turns very slightly.
Everything in the cabin is stowed, so nothing rattles. The water slaps against the side in twos and threes. The bunk is narrow, and you have the whole of it.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Nothing out here is in a rush, and neither are you. Through the hatch you can see one star, and then the mast crossing it.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Your chest can be still now.
Your mind will leave about a hundred times. Come back about a hundred times. Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Almost nothing to do now. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Stay. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
You have been putting this off. Starting is the only step that matters.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for water, slow.