Sleep story · travel, anonymous
Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, if you are new to this — for winding down
A room you did not choose, in a city you do not have to know.
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
The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.
Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.
If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there. If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point.
Let your palms open if they were closed. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
Sleep. Let the room get slightly further away. Let the dark be ordinary.
They will find their own way out. Just the weight. Stay.
Nothing here assumes you have done this before.
The end. Sleep well.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.