Sleep story · warm, home
A kitchen late at night (a sleep story), when you have been on screens all day — for waking too early
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
Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it. 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.
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. Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Feel your wrists loosen. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
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.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Your chest can be still now.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter. The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all. The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Your ankles can go loose now.
If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back. Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Just the weight. Let the dark be ordinary.
Let it all get further away. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
You do not have to count them. They will find their own way out. Slower.
After a day of screens, the eyes and the shoulders need this first.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.
If this story does not settle you, try The house after everyone is asleep, when you need to stop thinking about work — for waking too early, A field under snow — a slow story for the end of the day, on a day that started badly — for a restless night or Sleep story: a bus at night, on a day that started badly — for jet lag.