Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt

The books I never read because I thought I had all the time in the world. The empty wardrobe, hangers clanging together like a skeleton. The imprinted pillow. The birthday cards I kept. The phone that never rings. The two last coffee mugs on the dish stand. The un-played guitar. The whisky bottles. A calendar event that will never arrive. The shoes in the hallway. The towel in the bathroom. The posh coffee. The starless sky. The dying alarm clock. The knitted character. A pile of bedtime books. A cork-board of memories. Echoes of laughter. Quiet. Things I'll always regret.