A bus at night, when you want something simple — for waking too early

The story, in full

The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night. 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.

The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full. The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement. Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Feel your cheeks let go.

Your chest can be still now. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

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.

Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your hands be completely still.

Feel your wrists loosen. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here. The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm.

Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this. Your mind will leave about a hundred times. Come back about a hundred times.

Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.

Stay with the weight of your body. Just the weight.

Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Nothing needs deciding tonight. Slower.

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

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

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