Sleep story: a bus at night for waking too early

The story, in full

The heating comes through the floor and makes your feet warm. You do not have to get off for another twenty minutes. There is a long stretch of road ahead with nothing on it.

The driver takes the corners slowly, as if the bus were full. The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night. The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement.

Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.

Outside, someone is walking a dog that does not want to be out. There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here.

Your ankles can go loose now. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.

Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your ribs stop working so hard.

Your ticket is on the seat beside you, already used. A streetlight passes across the ceiling every few seconds.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.

The city goes past below you, shopfronts and bus stops and people waiting for other buses. You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

There are four other people downstairs and nobody up here. The bus stops and starts with a slow, heavy movement.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.

The lights inside are the dim blue kind that buses use at night. You are on the top deck of the last bus, in the front seat, with the whole window to yourself.

If your mind is quiet, don't grab at it. Quiet comes and goes too. If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else.

Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.

Nothing here needs following closely. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.

Let the dark be ordinary. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Nothing needs deciding tonight.

Let them. You do not have to count them. Let the room get slightly further away.

Wanting to finish something is a better motivation than wanting to relax.

That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.

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