Sleep story · sea, still
A lighthouse at the end of a long day (a sleep story), when you have woken up too early — for waking too early
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 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. There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting.
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. Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Feel your cheeks let go. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
The tea in your hands is too hot to drink and you are just holding it. The wind is doing a low, steady thing against the glass.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders. The window is thick and slightly green at the edges.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let the mattress take all of it.
The light goes out across the water and comes back, and goes out again. The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not.
Feel your wrists loosen. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else. Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
They will find their own way out. Let the room get slightly further away.
Leave it there. Just the breath. Nothing needs deciding tonight.
Let the quiet be boring. Just the dark. Let it all get further away.
Waking too early is a specific kind of frustrating. This helps with the frustration.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, still.
If this story does not settle you, try The house after everyone is asleep, after a difficult conversation — for a racing mind, Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you are at home and cannot settle — for winding down or Sleep story: a lake before dawn, when you are short on time — for a restless night.