Sleep story · cozy, rain
An attic room — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are not in the mood — for a restless 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 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 air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood.
The roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement. The rain changes intensity every few minutes and never quite stops. A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years. The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.
The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks. The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let the mattress take all of it.
The lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table. There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment. Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
Let them. Let the room get slightly further away.
Stay. Just the breath. Let the dark be ordinary.
Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let it all get further away. Almost nothing to do now.
Not being in the mood is a normal starting point.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for cozy, rain.