Sleep story · warm, home
A kitchen late at night (a sleep story), when you have more time than usual — for jet lag
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 no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either. Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once.
The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another. The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on. The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature. There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter. The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is.
If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back. Your mind will leave about a hundred times. Come back about a hundred times.
Feel your wrists loosen. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. Nothing here needs following closely.
Let your breathing do the rest. Let it all get further away. Just the dark.
This is the longer version, for a day with some slack in it.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.