Demi Lovato's _ _ _ _ Land

I'm delusional--where fantasies are my refuge.

Repeated experience, and bitter experience indeed, had long since taught him that every intimacy, which in the beginning lends life such pleasant diversity and presents itself as a nice and light adventure, inevitably, with decent people--especially irresolute Muscovites, who are slow starters--grows into a major task, extremely complicated, and the situation finally becomes burdensome. But at every new meeting with an interesting woman, this experience somehow slipped from his memory, and he wanted to live and everything seemed quite simple and amusing.

The Lady with the Little Dog by Anton Chekhov

When I'm here, I depend on you more than I expect. I have no one to turn to--besides Billy--for all my questions, all my thoughts, and all my insecurities, but you. So knowing that you aren't here at this moment is driving me nuts because I keep thinking things and the only one who would seem to get them is you. The only one who is around is you. You. You. You.

How is it that simply having your existence in my life can crystallize ideas that I never understood, making everything everyone ever mentioned make so much goddamn sense. How is it that you can make me feel so at ease and anxious and restless and comfortable, all at once?

How is it that we are so incompatible? Destined not to be destined.