“If I stay,” Samara asked, “will I remember the living?”
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For an hour—or perhaps a year; time moved strangely there—Samara walked the impossible gardens of Mithuriyo Lanka. He spoke with a teacher who had praised his first poem. He played chess with an uncle who had taught him to fish. He even met a dog he had rescued as a boy, who had died of old age licking his hand. “If I stay,” Samara asked, “will I remember the living
This was Mithuriyo Lanka.