On Tuesday, June 26, 2018, a girl who I thought had a pretty appearance came to my psychological consultation room. She told me that she was depressed about her first love and wanted to find someone to talk to. After being depressed for a long time, she already felt that there was something wrong. As a psychiatrist, I naturally would not shirk it.
However, it's just a plain girl's sentiment, so why can't I help but empathize with the other person's daily narration, as if I've experienced those scenes before?
Obviously, I have never liked anyone else.