A kitchen late at night, when the weather has kept

The story, in full

Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once. 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.

Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all. 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.

Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Your chest can be still now.

Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let the mattress take all of it.

Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it. The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on.

Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday. The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.

The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter. There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either.

Your ankles can go loose now. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it.

Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once. The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on.

If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment. If you're thinking about the next thing on your list, that list will still be there.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Feel your wrists loosen.

You do not have to count them. They will find their own way out.

Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Stay. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.

Let it all get further away. Leave it there. The words can start to blur now.

Bad weather is a decent excuse to stay in and do this.

Let this be the last thing you listen to.

21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.