'Wednesday and all the ones before' by Leia Butler

Empty house, dinner for one, nothing good on TV, 'Not enough storage' popping up on your phone. Scrolling through, trying to delete, going back in time, 

Sunscreen, screams, spiders, the milk has gone off, away from home and missing the smell of your pillows. Swimming costumes, damp towels, holding breath, holding hands. 

Quality streets, milk, cookies, tinsel getting stuck in the hoover, all laughing at the same old jokes. Sellotaped fingers, 6 am starts, bin bags full of wrapping paper scraps, tiny gasps and 'I can't believe it' whispers.

Jumpers too big, shouting in car parks, first-day pictures, shops already tearing down 'back to school' billboards to bring out the Halloween bits. Rush-hour pick-ups, pictures to stick on the fridge, book covers to wrap, baths before bed.

Wishing you could relive them all.