Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A hotel room somewhere — a slow story for the end of the day, after a difficult conversation — for waking too early
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
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. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.
The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop. Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
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 the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind? Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Nothing here needs following closely. Let the next part go past without you.
Just the breath. Softer. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Difficult conversations leave a residue. This is for the residue.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try A lake before dawn (a sleep story), when you want to be left alone — for a racing mind, Sleep story: an attic room, when you feel fine and want to stay that way — for a restless night or A kitchen late at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when the weather has kept you inside — for winding down.