Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep — a slow story for the end of the day, after eating too much — for an overtired night
The hour when the house belongs to nobody and nothing needs doing.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
There is a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them.
The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. The radiator clicks once as it cools down. A glass of water sits on the table, half finished.
Feel your cheeks let go. Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress.
Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day.
Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.
If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks. Notice if you've been frowning at your own thoughts.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your toes stop holding on to anything.
Let it all get further away. Stay.
Leave it there. Follow the breath out, and let the next one arrive by itself. You can stop listening properly.
Do this sitting up, not lying down, if you have just eaten.
Let the words go now, and take the quiet with you.