Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time (a sleep story), when you are not in the mood — for waking too early
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
There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back. The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table. Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately.
The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows. The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish. The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections. The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps. A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed.
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.
Everything here will still be here tomorrow. Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
If a worry shows up, name it quietly and let it sit beside you. If you've lost track of where we were, you haven't lost anything important.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Just the breath. Let them.
Let the dark be ordinary. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let it all get further away.
Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let the next part go past without you. Slower.
Not being in the mood is a normal starting point.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, books.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you only have a few minutes — for waking too early, A boat at anchor, when you have been meaning to start — for an overtired night or A lighthouse at the end of a long day — a slow story for the end of the day, when you want something simple — for a restless night.