Sleep story: the house after everyone is asleep, when the day has been loud — for a restless night

The story, in full

Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. The radiator clicks once as it cools down. The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall.

The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. There is nothing left on the list for today.

Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your hands be completely still.

Notice how much of you has already stopped moving. Let your palms open if they were closed.

The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house.

Your chest can be still now. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth.

A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day.

Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. 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. Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away.

The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building.

If you're judging your performance, that's the same habit as judging everything else. Notice if you're being hard on yourself about any of this.

Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.

Let the thoughts come and go without you getting up to answer. Let it all get further away.

You can stop listening properly. Let the dark be ordinary. Just the breath.

Almost nothing to do now. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Let the room get slightly further away.

For days that were loud from the moment they started.

Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.

21 paragraphs, roughly 4 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.