Veronica Decides To Die

There are some stories that are sweet and simple, that touch your heart and leave you just a little happier and enriched.
And then, there are compositions that mirror your soul in ways that you could never imagine, stabbing you with lines that are just so on point, like they're built from your own feelings, and tearing your heart apart by making it so beautiful that you could never match it. Really, I wish I wrote Veronica Decides To Die, and at the same time, I'm glad I didn't because it wouldn't have been so very appropriate. I wonder how many people know that prose can be just as pleasurably painful as poetry.
Isn't it true, that we're all madmen of our own account? Maybe the only thing that sets us apart is whether or not we're able to embrace it. And maybe henceforth, I know very clearly what to do with my own quirks. :D