Sleep story · quiet, home
The house after everyone is asleep — a slow story for the end of the day, if you are fitting this around other people — for a racing mind
The hour when the house belongs to nobody and nothing needs doing.
Reading it yourself. Back to the audio version.
Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.
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 a chair by the window that nobody sits in during the day.
Let the mattress take all of it. Your chest can be still now.
Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Feel the weight of your head on the pillow.
Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building.
Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Feel one shoulder go heavy, then the other.
Your fingers can stop doing anything at all. Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow.
The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone.
Your elbows can stop being hinges for now. Let your calves spread out and flatten.
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.
Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.
Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone.
Your ankles can go loose now. Feel the weight of the blanket on your legs.
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.
If a worry shows up, name it quietly and let it sit beside you. Notice anything you're holding onto from earlier today.
Let your lower back sink down into the mattress. Let the space between your eyebrows smooth out.
Let the dark be ordinary. Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet.
Leave it there. Just the dark. Softer.
Just the weight. Let the room get slightly further away. You do not have to count them.
It is designed to fit around other people’s schedules.
The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.