A kitchen late at night, when you are not sure this will work — for an overtired night

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 no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either.

The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is. Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once. There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature.

Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter.

Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on. The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another.

If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather. If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point.

Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.

Let it all get further away. Just the dark.

Let the room get slightly further away. Let the dark be ordinary. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.

Not being sure it will work is a perfectly good reason to try it once.

I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.