Sleep story · quiet, books
Sleep story: a library at closing time, when you have woken up too early — for an overtired night
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 carpet has flattened every sound in the building down to nothing. The reading room you are in has one lamp left on, and it is the one above your table. The clock above the door is the old kind, with a second hand that moves in small jumps.
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 library closed twenty minutes ago, and the staff are working along the far shelves, switching off sections.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Your ankles can go loose now.
Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
There is a trolley of returned books beside the desk, waiting to be put back. The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you.
Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
Let your hands be completely still. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
The last of the day's light is going out of the high windows. Your own book is heavy in your hands, and you have stopped reading it.
Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Everything here will still be here tomorrow. Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let your ribs stop working so hard.
Someone is pushing a trolley two rows away, and you can hear each wheel separately. The windows are dark enough now to reflect the room back at you.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.
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.
Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room. Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your palms open if they were closed.
Just the dark. Let the quiet be boring.
You can stop listening properly. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Let your breathing do the rest.
Leave it there. You do not have to count them. Softer.
Waking too early is a specific kind of frustrating. This helps with the frustration.
I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.
21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, books.
If this story does not settle you, try A hotel room somewhere (a sleep story), when you cannot concentrate on anything else — for winding down, A lighthouse at the end of a long day, after a difficult conversation — for winding down or A field under snow — a slow story for the end of the day, when the house is busy — for the hours after a late shift.