Summer Skin

Of late, I have been revisiting a favorite album from a few years back, Plans by Death Cab for Cutie. The melancholy tunes of all the songs and the lyrics of Summer Skin in particular make me both nostalgic for the sun and sea soaked ete's (how do you put an accent aigu on your "e" fraincais on this puppy?) of my preteen years on Long Island's Fire Island and mournful over an adolescence that I romantically fantasized about during those years, which, when it came and went, turned out to be quite less romantic.

This isn't going to be a blog (should I end up posting it, which perhaps I won't, we shall see) about what-ifs and what might-have-beens. You could become imprisoned in a dank, death-filled, windowless cell much like Edmond Dantes (one of my favorite literary characters during that time in my life) in the Count of Monte Cristo in that Chateau d'IF, if you let yourself. And to what end? So, coming as a surprise to even myself, this is the end of this entry. Walk on.