Sleep story · sea, still
A lighthouse at the end of a long day (a sleep story), when you have been putting it off — for a night when you do not want to think
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. The tea in your hands is too hot to drink and you are just holding it. The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not.
The wind is doing a low, steady thing against the glass. The lighthouse turns once every fifteen seconds, and you have stopped counting it. There is a chair pulled up to the window that fits exactly one person.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let the mattress take all of it.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing. There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
The light goes out across the water and comes back, and goes out again. Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders.
Notice the exact moment your attention left. You probably won't catch it. That's normal. Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
Just the breath. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Stay. Let it all get further away. They will find their own way out.
You have been putting this off. Starting is the only step that matters.
That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, still.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a fire dying down, when the weather has kept you inside — for waking too early, A library at closing time, when you have been on screens all day — for waking too early or Sleep story: a lake before dawn, when you have already had a long week — for a racing mind.