Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, if you are sceptical about all of this — for an overtired night

The story, in full

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. The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be.

The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it. The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.

The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened.

Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let the mattress take all of it.

Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.

Notice the moment you realise you've drifted. That moment is the whole skill. If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Slower now.

Just the dark. Sleep. Softer.

Scepticism is welcome. You do not have to believe anything for this to work.

Let this be the last thing you listen to.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.