Sleep story · quiet, books
Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you have been putting it off — for winding down
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
The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows. 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.
The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps. Everything here will still be here tomorrow. There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back.
Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.
Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table. The air smells of paper, dust and floor polish.
Feel your cheeks let go. 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. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.
The carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing. The library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately. A book lies open on the next table, face down, which is technically not allowed.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Feel your wrists loosen.
Notice how quickly your mind labels things: good, bad, boring, nice. Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.
Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Softer. You do not have to count them.
Let the room get slightly further away. Let your breathing do the rest. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.
Stay with the weight of your body. Let it all get further away. The words can start to blur now.
You have been putting this off. Starting is the only step that matters.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.
18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, books.
If this story does not settle you, try Sleep story: a kitchen late at night, when your attention is scattered — for a restless night, A kitchen late at night — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are at home and cannot settle — for winding down or A bus at night, when you want something simple — for waking too early.