A kitchen late at night (a sleep story), when you feel fine and want to stay that way — for an overtired night

The story, in full

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. Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it.

There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday. Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all. The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.

Let your hands be completely still. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.

A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.

The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp. Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once.

If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else. Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.

Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

The words can start to blur now. Stay.

Stay with the weight of your body. Just the weight. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.

Feeling fine is a good reason to do this, not a reason to skip it.

Let everything get quiet, including this.

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