20 psychological clinics around the world jointly conducted a questionnaire survey on 3,000 patients aged 35-45 who came to the clinic for treatment due to relationship problems, and found that 85% of them thought that they had an "unusual" first love, 65% of them did not last more than 1 month in their first love, and 60% said that they wanted to forget their first love but could not do it......

For most people, first love is the beginning of an emotional experience, but it is difficult to become the end. So the definition of a failed first love has nothing to do with whether the two form a family or not. After analyzing the survey data, the failed first love probably includes the following factors:

* There is a huge gap in the emotional experience with the first love, especially if the first love has had more than 5 emotional experiences.

* Being deceived, the first love person deliberately conceals his identity, experience or marital status.

* The relationship is abruptly terminated due to special reasons, such as accidents, illness, death, or imprisonment.

……

The results of the analysis showed that the failed first love would have different degrees of negative impact on the future emotional behavior of the respondents, and the impact on women was more serious than that on men... In addition, the later the first love starts, especially after the age of 20, the greater the impact on the future.

Excerpt from "Don't Let a Failed First Love Ruin Your Child's Life" [USA] Martin. Dr. Black

My first love happened at the age of 21, and it took 180 minutes from saying I love you to breaking up...... A breath of "underdog" came to his face.

Recalling this failed first love, the screen is full of blue sky, white clouds, green trees and bluestones, because it did happen in Australia with blue sky, white clouds, green trees and bluestones. That year, my brothers helped me register for "FIX Studio", and there was no fixed office, no permanent staff, just myself and two part-time helpers. I dragged my toolbox to a client's home to restore antiques, which were mostly small projects with little profit. Finally, one day, I received a big five-figure order, but unexpectedly, I also ran into big trouble: a wealthy old lady who lived alone in New York decided that my restoration had made her collection "look complete", but in fact the internal structure had been damaged, and she involuntarily took me to court. The moment I received the summons, I was almost petrified and completely overwhelmed. Thankfully, Eric reached out and introduced me to Amanda, who had helped his company with legal troubles, and covered all the legal costs. It was a painstaking and lengthy lawsuit, and the wealthy old lady had a strong team of lawyers, and I had to work with Amanda to provide all kinds of technical parameters, supporting data, industry expert opinions, and so on. Although I won the case, I was physically and mentally exhausted, and I had doubts about whether I would continue to run the studio.

Damai decisively pulled me from cold and gloomy New York to warm and bright Australia. He had just bought a villa in New South Wales, nestled at the foot of the Blue Mountains, half an hour's drive from the town of Bilpin. Surrounded by vast meadows and rolling mountains, the villa is greeted by a variety of famous and unnamed flowers and trees during the day, and a pure 360-degree panoramic starry sky at night.

In addition to Damai and me, there is also Damai's new Australian girlfriend Abbie, who is a wild and adventurous girl. It is estimated that it was under her influence that Damai became obsessed with diving, so she chose to vacation here, because there is an underground deep pool called "Diamond Cave" in the hinterland of the Blue Mountains, which is said to be the dream of divers for a lifetime. From the outside, it looks like a deep pool of water, but when you dive to a certain depth, large areas of minerals like diamonds appear on the surrounding stone walls, creating a dreamy and even psychedelic scene.

The villa is two floors above and below, and the downstairs space tends to be open, with large movable doors open to the living and dining rooms that can be integrated with nature, and the bedrooms and bathrooms also have floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The second floor is small but tends to be private, with separate bedrooms, bathrooms, and a large terrace that is perfect for me to hide in. Damai and Abby lived on the first floor, happily enjoying love and making various adventure plans, while I hid quietly on the second floor, quietly enjoying reading, thinking and relaxing in the warm wind and birdsong, and occasionally eating and chatting with them.

I still have a crush on Abby, mainly because she gave me a very sweet gift: a fluffy kitten with orange markings. I named this little guy "FurBall" and I carried it with me.

Diving in the "Diamond Cave" is not arbitrary, it needs to be led and guided by experts, so one evening, I heard the roar of a motorcycle on the terrace, and a young man with short dark blond hair and an athlete-like figure came to the villa. In the evening, I can hear them laughing loudly, playing rhythmic music, and immersing myself in the infinite reverie of the "Diamond Cave" and the infinite excitement of adventure.

With the cool night breeze and the moonlight pouring down, I walked to the terrace to let myself melt into this beautiful and calm night, which I had been working in front of the computer for a long time. I looked downstairs and was surprised to see that there was an extra tent on the grass, and a faint lantern hung in the tent, and next to the tent was the young man's motorcycle, and the man was shirtless, smoking a cigarette, scrubbing and fiddling with his car.

This man is going to live in a tent?! As far as I know, there are guest rooms downstairs, and even if there are no guest rooms, the large and comfortable sofa in the living room is a good choice. What a person who loves nature and has to live in a tent.

However, the tent under the moonlight in front of the dense forest, the light in the tent fluttering in the wind, has a different flavor. I went to my room, grabbed a pen and paper, and went back to the terrace to draw the scene in front of me, one of which was a tent and one of which was a man fiddling with a motorcycle. The man kept his head down, so he couldn't see his facial features clearly, but the strong and well-proportioned muscles exposed on his upper body were a good body painting sample.

My father's hobby for painting was passed on to me, but he always criticized me: "Don't use the way engineers draw too accurately to express the perspective principle and object structure, you should draw your emotions into it, and let the people who look at the paintings be ......infected by you", and my mother asked me to look at more ink paintings and learn how to use a single color and simple lines to create an infinitely reverie artistic conception. I suddenly realized that since they died, I had not painted seriously, and I looked down at the two pieces of paper in my hand, and thought: I wonder if my paintings have feelings and artistic conception now......

A small cat meow came from under his feet, and the furball ran out onto the terrace at some point, and the curious and bold guy was ready to get out of the gap in the balcony railing! I hurriedly bent down and copied it, but the two paintings in my hand flew down in the wind, one on the ground in front of the tent, and the other on the saddle of the motorcycle. The man put down the tool in his hand, picked up the painting, still holding a cigarette, squinted at the painting in the rising smoke, and looked around again, trying to find the source of this strange painting. I was afraid of being discovered, so I hid under the balcony railing and didn't dare to stand up, only peeking down through the gap in the fence. I remember hearing Abby ask Damai once, "Does your sister have autism?" Or social dysphoria or something? "I think if I show up now, that man will think I'm a big monster who hides from people, has mental illness, and likes to spy on people!

But, to my worst thing, I had to pick up those two paintings, because there were some important data written on the back of those two sheets of paper, and I really regretted why I had to draw from the paper on which I had written on the table, and why I didn't go and get some blank paper from the drawer.

The man put the painting back on the seat of the motorbike and walked into the room with the rag, I guess he must have been washing his hands, both the kitchen and the guest bathroom were at the innermost end of the first floor, and I guessed that I would have enough time to pick up my paintings. I put the furball in a safe place and rushed down the outdoor stairs on the side of the terrace, first picking up the one in front of the tent, and then rushing to the motorcycle to get the one on the saddle, but before my hand could touch the painting, a gust of annoying wind blew and scraped the painting to the ground on the other side of the motorcycle. I had to go around, crouch down, pick it up, and when I stood up, I was just in front of him as he came out of the house. I miscalculated, really miscalculated.

It could be seen that he was really taken aback. Dressed in a pale blue silk shirt and shorts of the same material, with my hair scattered and shining in the silvery moonlight, he would have thought I was a female ghost across the east and west!

Finally I could see his appearance, long face, deep-set eyes, pupils between blue and green, a straight nose but not as exaggerated as the British (80% white Australians are of British descent), a very angular chin, a green stubble that stretched to the temples, and it was estimated that it would become a large beard if it was not shaved for a few days. Thin lips with fluttering corners even if you don't smile.

If it weren't for the rustle of leaves in the wind and the faint cry of night owls in the distance, the two people standing still would have almost become a freeze-frame. I felt like I should say something, but I couldn't open my mouth anyway. The shock in his eyes faded, and he approached me with a little caution.

"Hi......" he greeted me, probably seeing the painting in my hand, and said, "Is this what you painted?" The painting was great."

I feel like I have to speak, but what to say? What should you say?!

My savior always comes at a critical moment.

"Jay!" Da Mai walked out of the house quickly while calling his name, he instinctively looked back at Da Mai, and Da Mai put his arm around his shoulder like an old friend and said, "You have to check the equipment for me again, I always feel that there is something missing!" “

He wanted to say something, wanted to turn around and look for me again, but he was led into the house by Damai...

I took the opportunity to slip away, sprinting with all my might, and flew back to the upstairs room through the outdoor hallway. Holding the hairball that had slept darkly, he fell on the bed to relax. I involuntarily picked up the two paintings, and saw that on the picture of the motorcycle and the man, there was a black fingerprint, which should have been left when he held it and looked at the painting just now, with the smell of wild and rough engine oil.

Damai, Abby and Jay set off early in the morning for the "Diamond Hole", and Damai's off-road jeep and Jay's motorcycle rumbled past under my window. Soon after I woke up, my aunt, who came from Bilbin every day to clean and cook, arrived, and the smell of coffee and bread began to spread rapidly from the kitchen. I enjoyed the free time of one person occupying the whole villa, sitting comfortably on the big sofa in the living room on the first floor, turning on the stereo with the remote control, selecting my favorite tracks, and then holding my thick "book from heaven", continuing my brainstorming in a relaxed and happy atmosphere.

"Book from the Sky" is a manuscript left by Mom and Dad, two people with brains that are different from ordinary people, often have all kinds of wonderful ideas, about new instruments, new technologies, new ideas, especially when their inspiration collides together, and then will produce new and more peculiar ideas... They'll jot it down on paper and say, "When we're 60, we'll focus on it!" “

However, they did not live to be 60 years old......

After they died, I spent a long time collecting these "records of inspiration" from all corners of the house. I found a very serious problem, my parents had a flying handwriting, even writing and drawing, and some of them did not have a single word on the paper, only various formulas, symbols and sketches. This can't help but remind me of Marx and Yanni, Marx's manuscript handwriting is extremely sloppy, and no one can read it except Yanni, so all his articles are copied by Yanniten. And my mom and dad feel like Marx plus Marx, and in the end I have to play the role of Yanni. I carefully kept the original manuscripts of their manuscripts, and then printed the scanned digital documents into a thick booklet that I could take out and study at any time. For me, pondering this "book from heaven" may not only be about figuring out the contents, but also becoming the best way to find solace and relieve sorrow, it makes me feel free of distractions, and it also makes me feel that my soul is infinitely close to my parents, so it is extremely warm.

Time passed unconsciously, the sun was setting, and the cleaning aunt had finished the day's work and left, so I put down the "Book of Heaven" and took the furball to the yard to stretch my body.

I couldn't avoid the tent in the yard anyway, the "door" of the tent was zippered, and I couldn't see inside. Driven by a curiosity that came out of nowhere, I walked up to the tent, zipped the "door" and got inside. Damai called in the afternoon and said they wouldn't be back until around 12 p.m. Therefore, the owner of the tent will not show up for a while.

The tent was unexpectedly neat, with a soft light gray blanket on an inflatable mat, and a few pieces of clothing stacked on top of each other wrapped in a towel, probably a simple pillow. Next to the pillow are two magazines. I flipped through it, one about sports equipment and one about motorcycles.

"Do all men like this weird thing?" As I flipped through the magazine, I said to the furball in my arms, and it cried out as if it didn't understand. "Aren't you a boy too?" I rubbed its furry little head and said, "Do you like these too?" “

I put down the magazine and looked up to see the lantern hanging on the ceiling, I thought it was a kerosene lamp, but it was actually electricity, I turned on its switch, and there was a yellowish glow that simulated a kerosene lamp. I lay down on the mat and rested on the pillow, which smelled of pine trees. I turned on the music player in my phone, stuffed the headphones into my ears, and the male singer with a slightly hoarse voice immediately whispered in my ear, I squinted my eyes, looked at the lantern, and was infinitely tired, and closed my eyes unconsciously.

I opened my eyes again, the lantern was still on overhead, the male singer was still singing in my ear, it was still early, I thought, I could not give up this comfort and laziness, I decided to rely on it a little longer, I adjusted my posture, turned sideways to the side of the tent door, and then I saw him sitting beside me, smiling at me in the faint night and the faint moonlight.

He reached out and gently brushed aside the hair that had fallen to my face because of the sideways leaning, and continued the greeting that he had not been able to continue yesterday, and he said, "Hi ......"