Sleep story · quiet, books
Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you are on your own — for a night when you do not want to think
The last hour, when the lights go down row by row.
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
Everything here will still be here tomorrow. There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back. The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections.
A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed. The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish. The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your thumbs rest where they landed.
The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you. Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing. The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy.
The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table. Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.
The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows. Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let your hands be completely still.
The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps. There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back.
If you feel restless, that's a feeling, not a failure. Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.
Just the weight. Let your breathing do the rest.
Leave it there. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Slower now.
Stay with the weight of your body. Slower. You can stop listening properly.
Being on your own is not required, but it does make this simpler.
Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, books.
If this story does not settle you, try The house after everyone is asleep — a slow story for the end of the day, before something difficult — for a restless night, Sleep story: a fire dying down, after a long day — for a night when you do not want to think or Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you only have a few minutes — for a restless night.