A hotel room somewhere (a sleep story), if you are sceptical about all of this — for a night when you do not want to think

The story, in full

Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight.

The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop.

Feel your cheeks let go. Let your ribs stop working so hard.

Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.

The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.

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

There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.

Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice. Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

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

Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. You do not have to count them. The words can start to blur now.

Scepticism is welcome. You do not have to believe anything for this to work.

The end. Sleep well.

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