This is not about the decoupling of a romance, as neither is, come to think of it, the quote above. This is about exile, and the quote is not about that either.
Alas. Betrayal can put an enormous dent in, as we say, one's phenomenal field. Getting back to what, by implication, never was seems to be all a matter of intepretation. Or seeing your misinterpretation. And/or, as friends (people who still talk to you) put it, "moving on." To go or stay was not an option, but to want to stay is hanging, not moving, on: unhealthy, we think, not to "make a new life." But never mind. I don't believe in reincarnation, not even in this dense, nouveau-monde sense that a new self is to be had for the choosing, that one's past is wiped away and one's enemies conquered by shopping a new self out there, in the world.
I liked my life, and I intend to fight for it: Caelum, non animam, mutant qui trans mare currunt. (Horace)
"Ad mare" is the case here, but it was a forced run at that, to pay the bills, pay the rent, not to fall through the floor of the profession entirely (though to some, myself included, what I do is another profession all together. You will see). More accurately, in the lingo of it all, I've re-applied a fairly esoteric skill-set. I loathe this in a fairly profound ---both deep and very thoughtful--- way.
The epiphenomenon of the moment is a giant, whacking headache over my right eye and across the top of the same hemisphere of my skull: a day stolen from the aforementioned locus of the reapplied skill-set, too much to do, including jobs to apply for and inane things to do for the one I have. A white bitter pill with a large engraved "E" and a cappucino have set things straight for the moment.
Two things: 1) No, the quote is not from "Lear;" 2)Yes, please comment.