Can you read me like a book?

I dread the day you leave because It's always been the plan, but now just without me.

It's sad to know how a few months ago can really make quite the change.

I see the dark glowing night through the clear cold window pane, And the thought of you emerge.

I did it. I did the minimal of what it takes to let go, but I see it as a loss. Like one which is hopeless, tragic and sad.

I think about what you'll think, and hope that you know it's for the better of both of us. In the end, it gets us nowhere, apart from self destruction, in my case at the least.

If only I knew, what would I have changed? The fact I chose to let you in, or the way things could have end.

Love, you only fall if you let yourself. An oblivious fact I now realize. A thought triggered by petty interest and apparent sweet gestures.

They'll never replace you, not even close. The familiar routine of us played by someone else disgusts me. Similar steps, a different path. Funny how one tends to compare to what you left behind.

It's like a barrier to move on, because what we once had was what I once saw, and felt as perfect. 

Is it possible, to fall for someone like I  fell for you, or is it impossible to fall for you like that again?

Again, such word is a mockery. 

Closure, I need to accept the fact you won't appear.