Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time — a slow story for the end of the day, when you want to be left alone — 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
The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you. Everything here will still be here tomorrow. A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed.
The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish. The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing. The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps. The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your palms open if they were closed.
The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows. Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Notice your hips, wide and settled.
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.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing. The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed. The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps.
If you've lost track of where we were, you haven't lost anything important. Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let the mattress take all of it.
Softer. Let your breathing do the rest.
Nothing here needs following closely. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.
Just the breath. Let the next part go past without you. Let them.
Nothing here asks anything of you socially.
The end. Sleep well.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, books.
If this story does not settle you, try A boat at anchor, when you want to be left alone — for waking too early, A caravan by the sea, if you are fitting this around other people — for the hours after a late shift or Sleep story: a lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you have been meaning to start — for jet lag.