The Unseen - May 2, 2000 At so many strokes past midnight, I remember, that I am, the unseen. I hear, the unheard. I remember, the forgotten. To live vicariously through others. I struggle to remember myself - if there is such a thing. For I am molded by expectations- and must fulfill them first. As the words run across the page, I am reminded of their permanence. - title by KS