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. 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. Humidity does that. My pause was more extended than required, separating the pages one by one, and his name emerged once more, silent and uninvited.T

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