Power of place

There is a morose magic of place.

Where you were when they first said hello, or goodbye

The place where you first held hands, that now has pain attached.

The street where they live, that you have no business driving down now.

The days of the week that were yours but now the calendar is bare. 

I cant go there anymore, the power of the place is too painful. 

So I'll try, to walk my path, wishing I could do so with your hand entwined in mine again.