A bus at night (a sleep story), when you need to stop thinking about work — for winding down

The story, in full

The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement. There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here.

The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full. The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night. The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.

The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses. Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out.

Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your hands be completely still.

You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes. You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself.

Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used. A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds.

Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your ribs stop working so hard.

If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back. If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else.

Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Your ankles can go loose now.

Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let the dark be ordinary.

Slower now. Nothing needs deciding tonight. Softer.

Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let the room get slightly further away. Slower.

Work thoughts are allowed to be there. They just do not get to drive.

The end. Sleep well.

18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.