Sleep story · warm, home
A kitchen late at night (a sleep story), when you are not in the mood — for a night when you do not want to think
One small light on, a cooling cup of tea, and the rest of the house dark.
Lights off. Press begin and let the story read itself to you, at the pace of sleep.
Screen on or off — we suggest dimming it, or simply closing your eyes after the first paragraph.
The story, in full
There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday. 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.
Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all. 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.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is. There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once. The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Feel your cheeks let go.
The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another. There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature. Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once.
If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment. If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
Softer. Let the quiet be boring.
Let your breathing do the rest. You can stop listening properly. Slower.
Just the breath. Just the dark. They will find their own way out.
Not being in the mood is a normal starting point.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.