The house after everyone is asleep, when you have woken up too early — for winding down

The story, in full

A glass of water sits on the table, half finished. The floorboards have stopped creaking because nobody is walking on them. Outside, a car goes past and its headlights sweep across the ceiling, then are gone.

The radiator clicks once as it cools down. 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.

Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Feel your wrists loosen.

Let your toes stop holding on to anything. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.

Everything in the room is exactly where it was left. There is nothing left on the list for today.

Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop. Let your lower back sink down into the mattress.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Let your forearms get heavy and warm.

Everyone went to bed an hour ago, and the house has stopped making the sounds it makes during the day. The curtains are not quite closed, and there is a thin line of streetlight along the wall.

If you're bored, stay with the boredom for a moment. It's usually thinner than it looks. If you're counting the minutes, that's fine. Count them and come back.

Let your feet get heavy first. Heavier than they need to be. Feel the back of your knees soften into the bed.

Let it all get further away. You can stop listening properly.

Let your breathing do the rest. Let each breath be a little smaller than the last. Just the breath.

Waking too early is a specific kind of frustrating. This helps with the frustration.

I will stop here. The quiet will carry on without the words.

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