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 waking too early
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
Through the hatch you can see one star, and then the mast crossing it. The water slaps against the side in twos and threes. The cabin is low, and you have to bend your head to get into the bunk.
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. The blanket smells faintly of salt and diesel.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
The hull moves against the water in a slow, regular way. Nothing out here is in a rush, and neither are you.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Notice any part of you that wants this to be over. Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Let them. Sleep.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. The words can start to blur now. They will find their own way out.
You have been putting this off. Starting is the only step that matters.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for water, slow.