Sleep story: a bus at night, if you are tired of apps — for waking too early

The story, in full

There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it. The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement. You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself.

There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here. You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes. The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night.

Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Feel your wrists loosen.

Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.

The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full. Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used.

Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.

Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.

A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds. Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out.

Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Your ankles can go loose now.

The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm. The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses.

Let the mattress take all of it. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.

Notice the exact moment your attention left. You probably won't catch it. That's normal. If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix.

Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.

Stay with the weight of your body. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.

Just the weight. Nothing needs deciding tonight. Let your breathing do the rest.

Just the breath. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.

No account, no streak, no notification asking how you feel.

Let this be the last thing you listen to.

18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.