I didn’t plan to think about Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw again tonight, yet that is often the nature of such things.

The smallest trigger can bring it back. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another as I turned the pages of a long-neglected book kept on a shelf too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I lingered for more time than was needed, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and his name emerged once more, silent

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