Sleep story · warm, home
A kitchen late at night, after a long day — 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
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. The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on.
A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is. There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once. There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel your cheeks let go.
The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp. Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Your ankles can go loose now.
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.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this. If you're thinking about the next thing on your list, that list will still be there.
Your chest can be still now. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
Almost nothing to do now. Let the quiet be boring.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. Just the breath. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
You can stop listening properly. Let the room get slightly further away. Just the dark.
Use it at the end of a long day, not at the start of one.
That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.