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 waking too early
The last hour, when the lights go down row by row.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
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. Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately.
The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish. Everything here will still be here tomorrow. The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Your chest can be still now.
Feel your cheeks let go. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it. The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let your hands be completely still.
The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps. The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed. 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 your heels sink a little into the mattress.
A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed. Everything here will still be here tomorrow.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table. The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows.
Notice the exact moment your attention left. You probably won't catch it. That's normal. If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Just the breath. Slower.
Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let the room get slightly further away. Softer.
You can stop listening properly. Almost nothing to do now. Slower now.
Nothing here asks anything of you socially.
The end. Sleep well.