Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time, after eating too much — for jet lag
The last hour, when the lights go down row by row.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately. Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it. Everything here will still be here tomorrow.
The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing. The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections. The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table. There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish. The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
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.
Your chest can be still now. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
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.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let your hands be completely still.
Everything here will still be here tomorrow. The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you.
Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice. If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself.
Your ankles can go loose now. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
Just the dark. Almost nothing to do now.
Let it all get further away. They will find their own way out. You do not have to count them.
The words can start to blur now. Just the weight. Sleep.
Do this sitting up, not lying down, if you have just eaten.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.