You Taught Me

You taught me well without even knowing.
You showed me the cruelest moments of life without lifting a finger.
I learned how to love.
How to be inexplicably enamored and infatuated.
I learned what it's like to live a cliché.
To be the princess who falls for the villain.
To be the damsel in distress.
I learned, from you, how to lose myself in someone else.
To be so infatuated by someone else's power and intrigue that I forget to live my own life.
I learned to be blind to the truths spilling from the mouths of those around me.
To shut my mind and ignore and push away and fight whoever spoke against your name.
I learned so much from you.
I learned what heartache felt like.
How nothing seems to matter except for you walking away from me and the ever widening hole in my chest.
I learned how to grieve for someone that never died.
The body wracking sobs and gasps for air, praying that the aching would end. Suffocating in a pillow to muffle the sound of broken wails.
I learned how to live in a black cloud.
To bundle up in many blankets trying to keep the shivers at bay.
To stop eating when everything tastes like ash.
To hold the tears on the brink and not let them fall when people are around.
I learned not to get my hopes up because I'll always be left in the end.
Not to hope.
Not to dream.
Not to envision a future with anyone.
And when I ignore those little lessons you taught me, when I try and follow my heart, I end up here again. Holding back the tears. Choking on my questions. Spinning like a top in a whirlwind of confusion. Asking, how did this happen? What did I do to deserve this? Why was I so stupid?
Thank you for your lessons. For all the little gems of knowledge I acquired through your use of me. Maybe next time I'll be smart enough to listen to them.