Sleep story: an attic room, if you are doing this

The story, in full

The bed is pushed into the low corner, which makes it feel like a den. The room is in the roof, and the ceiling slopes so steeply that you have to duck near the window. The air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood.

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

Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

Your ankles can go loose now. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.

There is a box of things under the eaves that nobody has opened in years. The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks. The lamp is on the floor beside the bed because there is no room for a table.

Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.

The rain changes intensity every few minutes and never quite stops. There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house. The radiator is small and makes a ticking sound as it cools.

Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.

The rain changes intensity every few minutes and never quite stops. The roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement.

Notice whether you're breathing or holding. Start breathing again. Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.

Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Let your hands be completely still.

Sleep. Stay.

Softer. Let the dark be ordinary. Almost nothing to do now.

Nothing needs deciding tonight. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Stay with the weight of your body.

Midday is an underrated time for this.

The end. Sleep well.

21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for cozy, rain.