Sleep story: an attic room, after a long day — for an overtired night

The story, in full

The room is in the roof, and the ceiling slopes so steeply that you have to duck near the window. The roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement. The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools.

There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years. The air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood. The lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table.

Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.

The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks. The rain changes intensity every few minutes and never quite stops.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let the mattress take all of it.

Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.

A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked. The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house.

If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there. If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point.

Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.

Let the room get slightly further away. They will find their own way out.

Sleep. Nothing here needs following closely. Slower.

Use it at the end of a long day, not at the start of one.

Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for cozy, rain.