July 1, 1521

I fear that these may be my last days.  My wound has taken a turn for the worst and left me ill and weak.  I have a constant faint feeling that leaves me aching.  I believe that I have caught a sickness and that my body is slowly deteriorating.  If I no longer sail the seas I will feel unaccomplished, having never found the fountain of youth.  If I only I had it right now, I could recover and continue living.  But I don’t now, do I?  That means that this could be my very last entry.  Until I see you again, I wish the best for whoever reads this.  Live your life to fullest and never have any regrets.

Best Wishes,

Juan Ponce de Leon


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