You are not what he thinks of you. You are the books on your shelf and the song lyrics Sharpied on your arm. You are five feet of blood and flesh and sinew and spirit, and you have existed for 19 years without knowing his name. There was a you before and there will be a you after. And in the grand scheme of things, three years of your life isn’t that many. Don’t get caught up in semantics. Don’t wallow in self-pity. Don’t let him make you small. When you are up past 2AM and crying because he won’t answer your texts, just go to bed.