A hotel room somewhere (a sleep story), when you cannot concentrate on anything else — for the hours after a late shift

The story, in full

Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop.

The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.

Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.

Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

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.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.

Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let the mattress take all of it.

The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop.

Your ankles can go loose now. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.

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.

If a worry shows up, name it quietly and let it sit beside you. If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

Leave it there. Let the dark be ordinary.

Nothing needs deciding tonight. Let the room get slightly further away. You can stop listening properly.

Nothing here needs following closely. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Softer.

When concentration is gone, work with what is left.

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

21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.