Sleep story: a caravan by the sea, when nothing else has worked today — for a restless night

The story, in full

The bed folds out of the seating area and takes up most of the floor. You can hear the shingle moving as the waves pull back. A clock on the wall ticks with a slight rattle on every second.

The window over the sink has a small crack in the corner that has been there for years. The caravan rocks very slightly in the wind, which is more comforting than it sounds. The wind pushes against the side of the caravan in long, slow gusts.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.

Your ankles can go loose now. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.

There is a gas ring, a kettle, and two cups, one of which is a different pattern. The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor.

Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Feel your cheeks let go.

Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night. The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.

The sea is about fifty metres away, over a bank of shingle. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying.

Let your calves spread out and flatten. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.

The whole caravan smells of salt, gas and clean bedding. Everything you need is within two metres of where you are lying.

Let the mattress take all of it. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

The curtains are thin, and the moon makes a pale rectangle on the floor. There is a torch by the door in case you need to walk to the toilets in the night.

If you're irritated, that's allowed. Irritation is just weather. If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

Nothing here needs following closely. Stay.

Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let it all get further away. They will find their own way out.

Nothing needs deciding tonight. Softer. Sleep.

Nothing else has worked today. That is not a reason to skip this.

The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.

21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for sea, simple.