Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time, when you have already had a long week — for a restless night
The last hour, when the lights go down row by row.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
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. The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing.
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. There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish. Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed. The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let the mattress take all of it.
Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately. Everything here will still be here tomorrow.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this. If your mind has wandered, that's not a mistake. Noticing is the practice.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Let the quiet be boring. Let your breathing do the rest.
Leave it there. The words can start to blur now. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.
Stay with the weight of your body. Let them. Almost nothing to do now.
Long weeks are cumulative. This is a small subtraction.
Let this be the last thing you listen to.