Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time, when you have already had a long week — 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
Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately. 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.
The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you. The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections. 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.
Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed. The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Your chest can be still now.
The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish. The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Feel your wrists loosen.
Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it. There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back.
Feel your cheeks let go. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Notice any urge to check something. You can wait two more minutes. Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Stay. Just the weight.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let your breathing do the rest. Let them.
Let the quiet be boring. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Slower now.
Long weeks are cumulative. This is a small subtraction.
The end. Sleep well.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, books.
If this story does not settle you, try A garden in the rain, when you are cold and want to be warm — for jet lag, Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, when you want something simple — for jet lag or A hotel room somewhere (a sleep story), if you are sceptical about all of this — for a night when you do not want to think.