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

The story, in full

Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once. The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is. The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter.

The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another. There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature. The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on.

Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Your chest can be still now.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your palms open if they were closed.

The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp. There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let the mattress take all of it.

If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background. 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 forearms get heavy and warm.

Let them. Just the dark.

Slower. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let the next part go past without you.

Get a blanket first. Being cold defeats the point.

There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.

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