The house after everyone is asleep — a slow story for the end of the day, when you are short on time — for waking too early

The story, in full

There is nothing left on the list for today. Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. The lamp beside you is the only light left on in the whole house.

The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them.

Let your breathing get slower without deciding to slow it. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up. Feel your wrists loosen.

Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day. The radiator clicks once as it cools down.

Let the mattress take all of it. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

Feel the weight of your head on the pillow. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

The clock in the hallway ticks slightly behind the one in the kitchen. The fridge hums on and off in the kitchen, and that is the loudest thing in the building.

Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room. You might be planning something. Notice the planning, then come back.

Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.

Let it all get further away. Let your breathing do the rest.

Just the weight. Let the dark be ordinary. Stay with the weight of your body.

Pick this one when you are short on time.

No more sentences. Just the weight of you in the bed.

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