Sleep story: a kitchen late at night, before you go back to something hard — for a restless night

The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another. The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp. There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either.

Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all. The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on. Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be.

Your ankles can go loose now. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.

There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday. Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Feel your wrists loosen.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.

A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

The clock on the oven shows a time that feels later than it is. There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature.

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

If you're replaying a conversation, let it play. It'll finish on its own. Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today.

Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

The words can start to blur now. Let the dark be ordinary.

They will find their own way out. Just the breath. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.

Let it all get further away. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Let the next part go past without you.

Five minutes here is cheaper than an hour of grinding.

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