Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time (a sleep story), when you are not in the mood — for a racing mind
The last hour, when the lights go down row by row.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it. The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows. The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table.
The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing. The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps. The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Everything here will still be here tomorrow. The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed. There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately. The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix. If you're thinking about the next thing on your list, that list will still be there.
Your chest can be still now. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
The words can start to blur now. Slower now.
Leave it there. Stay with the weight of your body. They will find their own way out.
Just the breath. Let the quiet be boring. Just the dark.
Not being in the mood is a normal starting point.
No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.