A caravan by the sea (a sleep story), after a long day — for a racing mind

The story, in full

The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds. The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding.

There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night. A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back.

Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.

The bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor. The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years.

Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

Your chest can be still now. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.

The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts. The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.

The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds. There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night.

Let the mattress take all of it. Your ankles can go loose now.

The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying.

Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room. If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background.

Feel your cheeks let go. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.

Nothing needs deciding tonight. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.

Stay with the weight of your body. You can stop listening properly. They will find their own way out.

Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let the next part go past without you. Let your breathing do the rest.

Use it at the end of a long day, not at the start of one.

The end. Sleep well.

21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.