Sleep story · cozy, rain
An attic room, when you only have a few minutes — for a night when you do not want to think
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 roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement. There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years. The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools.
The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house. The air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood. The lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks. The room is in the roof, and the ceiling slopes so steeply that you have to duck near the window.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night. The rain changes intensity every few minutes and never quite stops.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
The bed is pushed into the low corner, which makes it feel like a den. A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Notice how you're sitting. Adjust if you need to. Then settle again. You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Let the room get slightly further away. Let it all get further away.
Just the weight. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let the dark be ordinary.
Slower now. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Stay with the weight of your body.
A few minutes is the whole requirement.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for cozy, rain.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, if you are doing this in the middle of the day — for a restless night, The house after everyone is asleep, when you have woken up too early — for jet lag or A garden in the rain, when you want to finish something — for jet lag.