A hotel room somewhere, on a low-energy afternoon — for a racing mind

The story, in full

There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.

The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it. The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your calves spread out and flatten.

Feel your wrists loosen. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

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.

If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back. If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.

Let the dark be ordinary. Softer.

Let the next part go past without you. Let them. You can stop listening properly.

Low-energy afternoons are what this was written for.

I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.

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