Sleep story · warm, home
Sleep story: a kitchen late at night, if you have five quiet minutes — for jet lag
One small light on, a cooling cup of tea, and the rest of the house dark.
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
A plate dries on the rack with a slow drip every so often. There is a bowl of fruit nobody has touched since Tuesday. 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. There is no reason to be awake, and no reason to move either. Someone upstairs turns over, and the ceiling creaks once.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel your cheeks let go.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another. The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on.
Your chest can be still now. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
Let the mattress take all of it. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
Through the window you can see the back garden, which is doing nothing at all. The tea towel is folded over the rail, still slightly damp.
Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter. Your chair is pulled out slightly, the way you left it.
Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
The kitchen is warm, and the small light over the hob is the only one on. The tiles under your feet are cold in one corner and warm in another.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Feel your wrists loosen.
There is a cup of tea beside you that has gone past drinking temperature. The fridge motor stops, and the room gets even quieter.
Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled. If you're replaying a conversation, let it play. It'll finish on its own.
Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Slower. Sleep.
You can stop listening properly. They will find their own way out. Just the breath.
Let the quiet be boring. Stay with the weight of your body. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Five quiet minutes is enough. Ten is generous.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for warm, home.