A hotel room somewhere, when you are somewhere noisy — for a night when you do not want to think

The story, in full

Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. 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.

A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened.

Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.

Notice your hips, wide and settled. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.

The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.

Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your calves spread out and flatten.

The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.

Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.

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.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.

The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop.

Your ankles can go loose now. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.

The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound. Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked.

Notice how you're sitting. Adjust if you need to. Then settle again. Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.

Let the mattress take all of it. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

Let the room get slightly further away. Just the dark.

Let the dark be ordinary. Stay with the weight of your body. Just the breath.

Nothing needs deciding tonight. Nothing here needs following closely. Leave it there.

Noise is fine. You are not trying to hear anything subtle.

No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.

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