A letter to my sleeping husband

Sleep is still a difficult thing for me to come by. It's actually the hardest part about marriage that I'm still adjusting to. I'm not good at waiting patiently for sleep to come, because I've always been so used to it just happening on it's own within minutes, so if I can't make it in an hour, I usually get up and go to the couch for a difference in scenery.

Here is a letter I composed to Peter in my brain at 4am last night shortly after I returned to bed, determined to sleep.

Dear Peege,
I adore you for opening your arms to me moments ago when I climbed back into bed. You pulled me into your body and it felt so nice, especially because you smell like a freshly cologned Greek god which is truly spectacular because it's 4am, and I'm pretty certain I smell like sweat and drool. I love that I can nuzzle into your neck right now and feel you breathing against my hair. This is great. This is so nice. Even when I can feel that spot on my head where your nose is slowly heating up until it could possibly compete with the fires of Mount Doom. I like it. It's like my head is on fire with your love. I love that our legs are intertwined right now, I feel like sexy clinging ivy with a really bad foot cramp. Seriously, though, this cramp is rough. If I try and move my foot will you still love me? You're snoring lightly, you lucky goose, and I've been awake since... forever, so you should definitely forgive me if I move my foot right now.
Okay, I know I just barely moved my foot, and you twitched slightly when I did so, but now my other one hurts too. I think you should allow me to move my feet.
Can you read my mind? Are you listening to me right now, Peege? Cause I specifically just thought that I wanted to move my feet, and you moved your legs. I think you may have been trying to help the situation, but you moved in the worst possible way. Seriously, the worst. If you can read my mind, I think you may be dyslexic when you do so. That's okay; I still love you. If you're still listening, please roll the other way.
I love you so much. Right now I'm a little bitter, because you're asleep and I'm not, and I'm mildly in pain, but that's okay; you're the greatest. I wish you weren't so insistent that sleeping with a fan blowing nearby gives you a sore throat, because your love fire on top of my head is making me sweat a little.
 I lied. It's really making me sweat. Can you feel the sweat dripping onto your neck? You may think that's drool, but it's totally not. I don't know if that makes the situation better or worse. Wait, no, there is some drool there.
Wow you're hot. I always knew you were an attractive man, but right now you are physically incredibly hot and I'm dying a little. Still, this is so sentimental, so sweet. We could just cuddle like this forever.
I lied, Peter. We can't cuddle like this forever. Not in this AC lacking apartment. I can't do it. Right now we're like the opposite of Rose and Jack while they try to survive in the icy Atlantic ocean surrounded by frozen bodies. If one of us dies, it will be from heat asphyxiation instead of hypothermia and I love you too much to allow that to happen.
You're a small man, and I have always promised to never assert dominance over you, at least not more than that which I can't personally handle in return, but I need to pin you. This sweet smelling cuddle has turned to my hair practically catching on fire, me sweating, my legs cramping and my left arm losing sensation. You've punched me in your sleep before, so I totally understand if that needs to happen right now, but it's time to roll. We can do this, we really can. We're not Rose and Jack, and neither of us needs to die, but it's time for us to separate. Please roll over.
Roll over.

Roll.

Now.
Now.

How about now?

Thank you for eventually listening to me. I was too afraid to roll you, so I'm grateful for how caring you are to do so on your own. You pushed me away, not because you wanted to, but because you knew I was on the verge of death, and I appreciate that. You look so cute sleeping right now, even with my drool and sweat shining on your neck. You wear it well, and that's something not many men could do.

Sweet sleeps.

Melly.