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

The story, in full

A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature. The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another.

Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it. The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on. The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter.

Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.

The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp. There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your calves spread out and flatten.

If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background. Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts.

Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Your chest can be still now.

Let the room get slightly further away. Nothing needs deciding tonight.

Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Stay with the weight of your body. Stay.

Get a blanket first. Being cold defeats the point.

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

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