The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are on your own — for an overtired night

The story, in full

The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.

There is nothing left on the list for today. The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house.

Feel your cheeks let go. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.

Let your ribs stop working so hard. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.

There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone.

Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Your ankles can go loose now.

The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left.

Notice if you're waiting for something to happen. Nothing is scheduled. If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back.

Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Let the mattress take all of it.

Let them. Just the weight.

Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. Nothing here needs following closely. You do not have to count them.

Being on your own is not required, but it does make this simpler.

That is the end of the story. Sleep is the next part, and it does not need instructions.

14 paragraphs, roughly 2 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for quiet, home.