Sleep story · sea, still
A lighthouse at the end of a long day, when nothing else has worked today — 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 tea in your hands is too hot to drink and you are just holding it. The window is thick and slightly green at the edges. The lighthouse turns once every fifteen seconds, and you have stopped counting it.
The lighthouse will keep turning whether you watch it or not. 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.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
There is a logbook open on the table with the last entry in someone else's handwriting. There is a chair pulled up to the window that fits exactly one person.
Feel your cheeks let go. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix. If you've lost track of where we were, you haven't lost anything important.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
Just the breath. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Slower now. Just the weight. Stay with the weight of your body.
Nothing else has worked today. That is not a reason to skip this.
That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.
12 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, when you are waiting for something — for a night when you do not want to think, A lighthouse at the end of a long day, when you are not in the mood — for waking too early or Sleep story: the night train, when you are too tired to try hard — for a restless night.