A hotel room somewhere — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have just finished work — for a racing mind

The story, in full

There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.

The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.

Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

Feel your wrists loosen. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

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.

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

Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.

Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on.

Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.

The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it.

Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your calves spread out and flatten.

There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight.

Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.

The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.

Notice the exact moment your attention left. You probably won't catch it. That's normal. If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background.

Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

Just the dark. Almost nothing to do now.

Stay with the weight of your body. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let your breathing do the rest.

Just the weight. Leave it there. You can stop listening properly.

The gap right after work is the easiest one to use.

The end. Sleep well.

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