Sleep story · cozy, rain
An attic room — a slow story for the end of the day, when you have more time than usual — for an overtired night
Sloping ceiling, rain on the roof a foot above your head.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood. A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked. 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 rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house. The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Your chest can be still now. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night. There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background. Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
Let it all get further away. They will find their own way out.
Slower. Stay. Stay with the weight of your body.
This is the longer version, for a day with some slack in it.
The end. Sleep well.