Sleep story · travel, anonymous
Sleep story: a bus at night, if you are tired of apps — for a restless night
Upper deck, front seat, a city going past that you do not have to join.
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
You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here. The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement.
A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds. The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm. The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full.
Your chest can be still now. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself. The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out. There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night. Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.
If your mind has wandered, that's not a mistake. Noticing is the practice. Notice the moment you realise you've drifted. That moment is the whole skill.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
You do not have to count them. Stay.
Just the breath. Let the quiet be boring. Let the dark be ordinary.
Just the dark. Nothing here needs following closely. Slower now.
No account, no streak, no notification asking how you feel.
There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.