Sleep story · travel, anonymous
A hotel room somewhere, if you are tired of apps — for an overtired night
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
The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it. The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight.
The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. 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 chest can be still now.
Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind? If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Stay. Let the quiet be boring.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Stay with the weight of your body. Slower.
Sleep. Let the dark be ordinary. Just the dark.
No account, no streak, no notification asking how you feel.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.
If this story does not settle you, try A field under snow, if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for a restless night, A field under snow, if you have done this a hundred times — for a night when you do not want to think or An attic room, when you are doing this for the first time — for a restless night.