The night train — a slow story for the end of the day, if you have done this a hundred times — for a restless night

The story, in full

The heating is on low, and the air smells faintly of clean metal and old upholstery. A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again. There is one other person in this carriage, four rows up, asleep with a coat over their knees.

The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to. Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see. The lights along the aisle are dimmed to the colour of weak tea.

Let your thumbs rest where they landed. Let the back of your neck lengthen out.

Let your forehead go cool and smooth. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.

Your bag is wedged under the seat in front, out of the way of your feet. Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound.

Feel your wrists loosen. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.

Let the pillow take the whole weight of your head. Your chest can be still now.

The train left a quarter of an hour ago, and the carriage has already settled into its own quiet. The window is cool against the side of your face.

Let the mattress take all of it. Your jaw can drop slightly. Let your teeth part.

Every so often the wheels change their note as they cross a join in the rail. The rhythm underneath you is steady enough to lean on.

Let your tongue sit heavy in your mouth. Notice your hips, wide and settled.

Somewhere ahead of you, a door opens and closes with a soft, deliberate sound. The seat reclines one notch further than you expected it to.

Let your forearms get heavy and warm. Let your hands be completely still.

Outside, the fields go past without anything in them you need to see. A station passes without stopping — a platform, a lamp, three empty benches, then dark again.

If you're sleepy, sit up a little. Or let the sleepiness be there. Notice the difference between a thought and the space around it.

Feel your heels sink a little into the mattress. Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine.

Let your attention settle somewhere low, like your feet. Just the breath.

Nothing here needs following closely. Let it all get further away. The words can start to blur now.

Let your breathing do the rest. Let the room get slightly further away. Almost nothing to do now.

If you have done this a hundred times, change one small thing tonight.

Let this be the last thing you listen to.

21 paragraphs, roughly 3 minutes read slowly aloud. Written for travel, cozy.