Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, before something difficult — for the hours after a late shift

There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.

Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.

Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Your chest can be still now.

Let your hands be completely still. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.

There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute.

Notice your hips, wide and settled. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be.

If you feel emotional, you don't have to explain it to anyone, including yourself. Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind?

Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.

Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Just the dark.

Let your breathing do the rest. Let the next part go past without you. Leave it there.

It works best in the hour before something difficult.

I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.