Sleep story · sea, still
A lighthouse at the end of a long day (a sleep story), if you have five quiet minutes — for an overtired night
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 wind is doing a low, steady thing against the glass. There is a chair pulled up to the window that fits exactly one person. Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders.
Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing. The window is thick and slightly green at the edges. The lighthouse turns once every fifteen seconds, and you have stopped counting it.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not. There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting.
Feel your cheeks let go. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
A ship passes in the distance with its lights on, and then it does not. The tea in your hands is too hot to drink and you are just holding it.
If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment. If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
You can stop listening properly. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Stay. Just the weight.
Five quiet minutes is enough. Ten is generous.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, still.
If this story does not settle you, try A kitchen late at night, when you have just finished work — for winding down, Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, when you feel restless rather than tired — for a restless night or The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are sceptical about all of this — for the hours after a late shift.