Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time (a sleep story), when you are waiting for something — for jet lag
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 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.
The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing. 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.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps. The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections. Everything here will still be here tomorrow.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish. Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it.
Let your hands be completely still. Your ankles can go loose now.
There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back. The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections. A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed.
Notice any part of you that wants this to be over. If your mind has wandered, that's not a mistake. Noticing is the practice.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. They will find their own way out.
Stay with the weight of your body. Let it all get further away. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
Nothing needs deciding tonight. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Let them.
Waiting is dead time you can spend on this instead.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 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 are at home and cannot settle — for a night when you do not want to think, A bus at night, when you are short on time — for a night when you do not want to think or A hotel room somewhere (a sleep story), when you want something simple — for winding down.