Sleep story: an attic room, when you feel fine and want to stay that way — for the hours after a late shift

The story, in full

There is a dormer window with a deep sill, and a mug left on it from last night. The rain changes intensity every few minutes and never quite stops. 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 air up here is warmer than downstairs and smells of old wood. The rain on the roof tiles is much closer and louder up here than anywhere else in the house.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

Notice your hips, wide and settled. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.

The roof is holding, and the rain is outside, and that is the whole arrangement. The floorboards are bare and slightly uneven, and one of them always creaks.

Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Notice how much of you has already stopped moving.

Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it. Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.

Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.

Let it all get further away. Let them.

Nothing needs deciding tonight. Slower. Nothing here needs following closely.

Feeling fine is a good reason to do this, not a reason to skip it.

The end. Sleep well.

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