Sleep story · travel, cozy
Sleep story: the night train, if you are doing this instead of scrolling — for winding down
Somewhere between two cities, in the dark, where nobody needs anything from you.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to. The window is cool against the side of your face. The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea.
The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on. Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail. There is one other person in this carriage, four rows up, asleep with a coat over their knees.
Notice the places where your body touches the bed, and let them be heavy. Your chest can be still now.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.
Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see. Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet.
Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.
Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery. The train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet.
Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound. A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again.
Feel your heartbeat somewhere far away. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again. Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet.
Feel your cheeks let go. Your ankles can go loose now.
The train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet. Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see.
If nothing much is happening, that's not a problem. Nothing much is often the point. Notice any part of you that wants this to be over.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
Stay. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself.
Leave it there. You do not have to count them. Softer.
Let the room get slightly further away. Stay with the weight of your body. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
Choosing this over scrolling counts as a good decision, even a small one.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.