Sleep story · quiet, books
A library at closing time, when you have been on screens all day — for an overtired night
The last hour, when the lights go down row by row.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
Everything here will still be here tomorrow. There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back. The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps.
Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it. Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately. A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Your chest can be still now.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your hands be completely still.
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.
Your ankles can go loose now. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you. The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish.
Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts. Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Slower. Stay.
Let them. You do not have to count them. Sleep.
After a day of screens, the eyes and the shoulders need this first.
The end. Sleep well.