Let not longing slay the appetite of living

"His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless."
? Ernest Hemingway
Today in the spirit of not giving in I visited the ancient citadel of Hue - the spirit was there but the body just not up to it...
Am missing my bears heart and soul but now I just want to be home - am so sick of struggling