A kitchen late at night (a sleep story), when you are cold and want to be warm — for a restless night

The story, in full

There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either. A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp.

The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is. Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once. The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your palms open if they were closed.

Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday. There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature.

Your ankles can go loose now. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather. If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back.

Let your hands be completely still. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.

You can stop listening properly. Almost nothing to do now.

Let your breathing do the rest. Sleep. Just the weight.

Get a blanket first. Being cold defeats the point.

The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.

12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.