Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time (a sleep story), when your attention is scattered — for a restless night
The last hour, when the lights go down row by row.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you. 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.
The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish. 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.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps. The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again. If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Nothing here needs following closely. Softer.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Slower now.
Scattered attention is the raw material, not an obstacle.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.