a long sentence about Wednesday nights

There's a time every week in the wee hours of a Thursday morning when after a restless attempt at sleep and throwing off the covers and reading Rainbow Rowell books on the kindle app in the dark, after tossing myself around limply, stationarily pacing, noise-cocked and impatient, I--in either half-awake or half-sleep--finally hear the click of the door and the pitch shift as a shadow passes between me and the fan and finally feel the sag on the bed beside me and the gentle in-case-I'm-sleeping forehead kiss and finally hear a whispered I love you, and then I sleep.