A bus at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are somewhere noisy — for an overtired night

The story, in full

The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm. You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself. There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it.

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. Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out.

Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Feel your cheeks let go.

The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses. A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here.

Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.

Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used. You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.

There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used.

Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.

The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full. A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds.

If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment. Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind?

Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

Slower. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.

Just the breath. You can stop listening properly. Let the quiet be boring.

Stay with the weight of your body. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Nothing needs deciding tonight.

Noise is fine. You are not trying to hear anything subtle.

Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.

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