It's a scab

At that time, I didn't like bitter melons. And the entrance, and the bitterness of the senses, and the bitterness of the feeling, shall be less than two seconds, and he shall spit out his frown. But it's been so sweet. Every time I see it at the supermarket, I see it lying there in peace, in splendor, covered in white, in yellow, in green, covered in tiny sprouts of tears, washed home and cut open, with pearls in it. It was felt that the bitter melon was a deep-rooted girl who had hidden a number of things in her heart, as if she were waiting, waiting for someone from the dust. He said, "It's hot, eat some bitter melons, clear your liver, go to the fire." So I went to the supermarket and I saw it, and it was still quiet, and I didn't show up, and I reached out, and I held my hand and came home with me. It's like a clean woman, with light water, it's more watery, it's cut open, it's all hearty, it's cut, it's thin, and it's all in front of it, and it's transparent, and it's a shallow smile, like a happy statement. Turns out, the ginger in the corner of the case was also made of silk bars, and the bitter melon laughed. It met the fates of its former life, and it went round and round and round, and the waiter was there. My tears came out of the greasy ginger of man, and I know that the bitter gourd is a strong woman, and that it is only with Our tears that the wait and suffering of a thousand years will be removed. It's better. It's better than anything。