You don't have to arrive at sleep all at once,
You can arrive gradually,
In pieces,
In small softening moments.
There is a way your body knows how to rest,
Even if it feels far away sometimes.
Even if the day has been heavy.
Even if your mind has been loud.
For now,
Nothing is being asked of you.
There is no performance here,
No fixing,
No catching up.
Just this moment and your body,
Exactly as it is.
Notice where your body is touching the bed.
Notice the weight of you and the simple fact of just being held.
And somewhere inside,
Your nervous system is listening.
Always listening.
And when it begins to sense that nothing is required,
It starts to loosen its grip on the world.
You might feel that in your chest,
Or in your belly,
Or in the quiet space behind your eyes.
You don't have to chase that feeling,
Just let it happen in its own timing.
And if any part of you is still watching,
Still waiting,
Still guarding the door,
You can let that part know,
It's okay now.
You don't have to stay on duty tonight.
You have carried enough today.
The night can hold the rest.
Breath after breath,
Your body remembers what it means to belong to itself again.
Nothing to hold,
Nothing to solve,
Nothing to protect against.
Only this slow returning to the place where sleep begins.
And from here,
You don't even need my words anymore.
The sound will stay with you.
Steady,
Quiet,
Uninterrupted.
And your body will find its own way into the deeper water of rest.
