The house after everyone is asleep (a sleep story), when you are on your own — for waking too early

The story, in full

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. There is nothing left on the list for today.

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. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.

Feel your belly rise and fall without any help from you. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it.

The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.

Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head.

The radiator clicks once as it cools down. There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day.

If you're distracted by a sound, let the sound be the object for a moment. If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks.

Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Let the mattress take all of it.

Let the dark be ordinary. Nothing here needs following closely.

Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Softer. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.

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

Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.

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