Sleep story · sea, still
A lighthouse at the end of a long day — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are doing this in the middle of the day — for a restless 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. 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.
Your coat is on the hook by the door, still wet at the shoulders. There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting. Below, the sea is doing what it does at night, which is mostly nothing.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
The room at the top is small, round and warm, with a kettle on a ring. The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
There is a chair pulled up to the window that fits exactly one person. The window is thick and slightly green at the edges.
If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself. Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.
Stay with the weight of your body. Stay.
They will find their own way out. Let the dark be ordinary. Just the breath.
Midday is an underrated time for this.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, still.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a lake before dawn, after eating too much — for an overtired night, A library at closing time — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are at home and cannot settle — for a racing mind or A library at closing time, when you have more time than usual — for a night when you do not want to think.