A bus at night, if you are fitting this around

The story, in full

The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full. You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself. The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses.

There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here. Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used.

Your chest can be still now. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement. A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds.

Feel your wrists loosen. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.

The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm. The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night.

Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your hands be completely still.

You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes. Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.

There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses.

Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here. The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full.

Notice the moment you realise you've drifted. That moment is the whole skill. If a worry shows up, name it quietly and let it sit beside you.

Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.

You can stop listening properly. The words can start to blur now.

Let them. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.

Almost nothing to do now. Leave it there. Sleep.

It is designed to fit around other people’s schedules.

Let this be the last thing you listen to.

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