Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, if you are sceptical about all of this — for winding down

The story, in full

The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. There is nothing left on the list for today.

The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.

Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Your chest can be still now.

There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Feel your wrists loosen.

Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you.

The radiator clicks once as it cools down. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them.

Let the mattress take all of it. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.

The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall.

Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed. Your ankles can go loose now.

Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this. If you feel numb, that's a valid thing to feel. Nothing to fix.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

Let the sound of this go soft at the edges. You can stop listening properly.

They will find their own way out. Nothing needs deciding tonight. Let the breath be the only thing you are doing.

Let the quiet be boring. Let them. Leave it there.

Scepticism is welcome. You do not have to believe anything for this to work.

Let everything get quiet, including this.

18 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.