Sleep story: a hotel room somewhere, when you have just finished work — for a night when you do not want to think

The story, in full

The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be.

Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful. Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.

The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.

Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.

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 breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.

The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened.

Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let the mattress take all of it.

The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop. The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Your chest can be still now.

The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened.

If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point. If a song is stuck in your head, let it play in the background.

Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

Let the next part go past without you. Softer.

Stay. Let them. You do not have to count them.

Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last.

The gap right after work is the easiest one to use.

There is nothing more to follow. Let the rest happen on its own.

21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, anonymous.