A kitchen late at night, when you feel fine and want to stay that way — for winding down

The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter. There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature. 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. Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once. Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

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

Your ankles can go loose now. Feel your cheeks let go.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.

There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either. The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another.

If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix. If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks.

Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.

Softer. Let your breathing do the rest.

Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let the next part go past without you. Let them.

Feeling fine is a good reason to do this, not a reason to skip it.

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