Sleep story · warm, home
A kitchen late at night, when you need something unremarkable — for winding down
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
The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp. There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday. There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature.
Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it. 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.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Your chest can be still now. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all. The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once. A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter. The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it. A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all. There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday.
If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too. If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Sleep. Just the breath.
You can stop listening properly. Slower now. Let the room get slightly further away.
Let the next part go past without you. Stay. Let them.
Nothing dramatic happens here, and that is deliberate.
Let everything get quiet, including this.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.
If this story does not settle you, try A fire dying down — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have just finished work — for an overtired night, Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, if you are fitting this around other people — for a racing mind or Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, before something difficult — for the hours after a late shift.