Sleep story · warm, home
A kitchen late at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have been putting it off — for a restless night
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
Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once. The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp. A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often.
There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday. Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it. There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel your cheeks let go.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Feel your wrists loosen.
There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either. The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your hands be completely still.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all. The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on. The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let your palms open if they were closed.
The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp. A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on. There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday.
If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there. Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Let it all get further away. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Stay with the weight of your body. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Just the dark.
Softer. Slower now. You can stop listening properly.
You have been putting this off. Starting is the only step that matters.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, when you want something simple — for the hours after a late shift, The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, if you have done this a hundred times — for jet lag or A garden in the rain (a sleep story), on a day that started badly — for an overtired night.