Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A hotel room somewhere, if you are tired of apps — for a racing mind
A room you did not choose, in a city you do not have to know.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it. 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.
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. The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on.
Feel your wrists loosen. Your ankles can go loose now.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your hands be completely still.
A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop. The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Notice how you're sitting. Adjust if you need to. Then settle again. Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
You do not have to count them. Slower now.
Just the breath. Sleep. Just the weight.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let the next part go past without you. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.
No account, no streak, no notification asking how you feel.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.