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

It is often a minor detail that sets it off. Tonight, it was the subtle sound of pages clinging together while I was browsing through an old book left beside the window for too long. Moisture has a way of doing that. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, separating the pages one by one, and his name simply manifested again, quiet and unbidd

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