Sleep story · cozy, rain
An attic room (a sleep story), when you have been putting it off — for an overtired night
Sloping ceiling, rain on the roof a foot above your head.
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 lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table. The bed is pushed into the low corner, which makes it feel like a den. The room is in the roof, and the ceiling slopes so steeply that you have to duck near the window.
The rain changes intensity every few minutes and never quite stops. There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night. The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Feel your cheeks let go.
There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years. The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
The roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement. The air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house. A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked.
Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
The air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood. A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Feel your wrists loosen.
There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night. The lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table.
If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else. If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Just the breath. Let your breathing do the rest.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Nothing here needs following closely. Let the next part go past without you.
Sleep. Slower. Let the quiet be boring.
You have been putting this off. Starting is the only step that matters.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for cozy, rain.
If this story does not settle you, try A bus at night, if you are fitting this around other people — for jet lag, A boat at anchor, when you have tried everything else — for the hours after a late shift or A kitchen late at night, when you are not sure this will work — for a restless night.