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What Do You Mean It 's Not Me Essay

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“What do you mean it’s not me, it’s you?” I cried, as I held the phone. “Trevor, I don’t understand how you could do something like this over the phone. We’ve been together since the second week of high school for goodness sake. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” “Listen, this just isn’t working out. I’m sorry if it helps any I’ll let you keep the engagement ring,” he apologized. “Keep the engagement ring!” I echoed. “Keeping the engagement ring isn’t going to give me the time I invested in this relationship back. That’s ten years of our lives down the drain. Are you sure you just want to throw it all away? What’s gotten into you?” While Trevor rambled from the other end of the line about how he never had a chance to date and have fun; I took off the shirt I was wearing and wiped my face with it. “But, you don’t need to have fun. I mean we can have fun together, can’t we?” I blurted. “Summer, this relationship is a wrap. I’m sorry that it had to end like this. I’ll be over to get my things. You can live in the apartment until the lease is up next month.” “What about our wedding plans and the invitations that are waiting to be mailed on the shelf?” I stammered as I thought about the ivory cardstock with our names printed in the most elegant cursive font. “Don’t send them out and don’t tell anybody else about a wedding because there isn’t going to be a wedding,” he barked. “Oh, Trevor, you can’t be serious,” I sobbed. By the end of our conversation, Trevor

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