Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time (a sleep story), when you are waiting for something — for a restless night
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
The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing. The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you. A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed.
Everything here will still be here tomorrow. The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table. The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back. Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately. The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows. The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
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.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Your chest can be still now.
Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately. Everything here will still be here tomorrow.
Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind? Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Just the breath. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Let your breathing do the rest. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. The words can start to blur now.
Almost nothing to do now. Slower now. Let the dark be ordinary.
Waiting is dead time you can spend on this instead.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, books.
If this story does not settle you, try A library at closing time — a slow story for the end of the day, when the weather has kept you inside — for an overtired night, A garden in the rain — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are not sure this will work — for waking too early or Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you have woken up too early — for a racing mind.