Cartas para mi muerte
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Ava tenía muy en claro una cosa: no se muere hasta que no se olvida.
Sabía, por supuesto, que la recordarían. Nadie iba a olvidarla repentinamente. Pero no podía irse así nada más. No podía ser recordada simplemente con lástima. No podía ser recordada como la pobre chica con cáncer.
Entonces, comenzó a escribir.
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#537
juvenil
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