Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time (a sleep story), if you have five quiet minutes — for winding down
The last hour, when the lights go down row by row.
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
Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately. The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table. The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows.
Everything here will still be here tomorrow. The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections. There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back.
Feel your cheeks let go. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Your ankles can go loose now.
A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed. The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let the mattress take all of it.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing. The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it. The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Sleep. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.
Let it all get further away. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Nothing here needs following closely.
Slower now. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Slower.
Five quiet minutes is enough. Ten is generous.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, books.