Sleep story · sea, still
A lighthouse at the end of a long day (a sleep story), before you go back to something hard — for a racing mind
One light turning, a kettle, and weather you are on the right side of.
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
The window is thick and slightly green at the edges. Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing. There is a chair pulled up to the window that fits exactly one person.
The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not. The tea in your hands is too hot to drink and you are just holding it. Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Feel your cheeks let go.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
The room at the top is small, round and warm, with a kettle on a ring. A ship passes in the distance with its lights on, and then it does not.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background. Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Feel your wrists loosen.
You can stop listening properly. Just the dark.
Let it all get further away. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. They will find their own way out.
Five minutes here is cheaper than an hour of grinding.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.
12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, still.
If this story does not settle you, try An attic room — a slow story for the end of the day, when nothing else has worked today — for waking too early, The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are somewhere unfamiliar — for a restless night or The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you have been putting it off — for a racing mind.