A hotel room somewhere (a sleep story), when you have tried everything else — for waking too early

The story, in full

There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it. The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute.

Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful. 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.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.

A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.

Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

Feel your wrists loosen. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be.

If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background. If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. You do not have to count them.

Slower now. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. They will find their own way out.

This assumes you have already tried the obvious things.

The end. Sleep well.

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