An attic room, if you are doing this instead of

The story, in full

The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools. There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years. 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 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.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.

Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.

There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night. The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your hands be completely still.

If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather. If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too.

Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Your ankles can go loose now.

Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.

Slower. Slower now. Nothing needs deciding tonight.

Choosing this over scrolling counts as a good decision, even a small one.

There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.

12 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for cozy, rain.