Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A hotel room somewhere (a sleep story), when you are too tired to try hard — for a racing mind
A room you did not choose, in a city you do not have to know.
Lights off. Press begin and let the story read itself to you, at the pace of sleep.
Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.
The story, in full
Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it.
The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let your hands be completely still.
The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice. If you're thinking about the next thing on your list, that list will still be there.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Your ankles can go loose now.
Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Slower now.
Let the next part go past without you. Let them. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Just the weight. Almost nothing to do now.
Too tired to try hard is exactly the right amount of tired for this.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try A caravan by the sea — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for a restless night, An attic room, when you only have a few minutes — for the hours after a late shift or Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, when you feel restless rather than tired — for waking too early.