I didn’t plan to think about Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw again tonight, but that’s usually how it happens.

The smallest trigger can bring it back. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another as I attempted to leaf through an ancient volume resting in proximity to the window. Humidity does that. I found myself hesitating for a long moment, pulling the pages apart one at a time, and in that stillness, his name reappeared unprompted

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