An attic room, when you have been putting it off — for winding down

A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked. The air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood. The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools.

There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night. The room is in the roof, and the ceiling slopes so steeply that you have to duck near the window. The roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.

Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.

The bed is pushed into the low corner, which makes it feel like a den. The lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Feel your cheeks let go.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Your ankles can go loose now.

The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house. There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years.

Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.

The rain changes intensity every few minutes and never quite stops. The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks.

Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let the mattress take all of it.

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.

Feel your wrists loosen. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.

The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks. There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night.

Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room. Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it.

Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.

Just the dark. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.

Let the next part go past without you. Let it all get further away. Just the breath.

Nothing here needs following closely. Nothing needs deciding tonight. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.

You have been putting this off. Starting is the only step that matters.

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