A bus at night (a sleep story), after a difficult conversation — for jet lag

The story, in full

There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes. A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds.

You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself. The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full. Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here.

Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Let your ribs stop working so hard.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement. Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out.

Notice the exact moment your attention left. You probably won't catch it. That's normal. Notice how you're sitting. Adjust if you need to. Then settle again.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

Stay. Just the weight.

Nothing here needs following closely. Let the room get slightly further away. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.

Difficult conversations leave a residue. This is for the residue.

Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.