Sleep story · cozy, rain
Sleep story: an attic room, if you are doing this in the middle of the day — for a restless night
Sloping ceiling, rain on the roof a foot above your head.
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
There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night. The bed is pushed into the low corner, which makes it feel like a den. The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools.
The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house. There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years. The rain changes intensity every few minutes and never quite stops.
Feel your cheeks let go. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
Feel your wrists loosen. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.
A carrier bag of shopping is still on the chair, unpacked. The lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table.
Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.
Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.
The air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood. The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let the mattress take all of it.
The roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement. The room is in the roof, and the ceiling slopes so steeply that you have to duck near the window.
Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.
The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house. The bed is pushed into the low corner, which makes it feel like a den.
Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Your elbows can stop being hinges for now.
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.
If a worry shows up, name it quietly and let it sit beside you. Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.
Slower. Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer.
Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. Just the breath. Let them.
The words can start to blur now. Almost nothing to do now. You do not have to count them.
Midday is an underrated time for this.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.
21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for cozy, rain.
If this story does not settle you, try A field under snow (a sleep story), when you feel restless rather than tired — for the hours after a late shift, Sleep story: a boat at anchor, when you are waiting for something — for an overtired night or A boat at anchor, if you are doing this in the middle of the day — for winding down.