A bus at night, when you want something simple

The story, in full

There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds. Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out.

The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full. You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes. The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.

Feel your cheeks let go. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.

The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm. Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used.

Your chest can be still now. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.

Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.

You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself. The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement.

Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled. Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.

Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.

Stay. Leave it there.

You can stop listening properly. Let the quiet be boring. They will find their own way out.

Simple is the point. There is no advanced version to graduate to.

The end. Sleep well.

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