It's Summer, but in my heart, the air is colored with the fresh scent of Spring.
I suppose this could be called the Springtime of youth...or the Springtime of love. Regardless, I'm blooming, and it is you, my little honeybee, that I wish to extract my pollen, for my chest is tight from the surplus of it. And as you fly back to your hive, not even looking back, I will sit here like a dog waiting for its master, hoping that our next encounter can be more intimate than the last.
After all, you are named Bella for a reason. Linda and Bonita are fitting to be sure, but Bella- or "beautiful"- defines your very soul. This beauty is hard to ignore, and I suppose this is why I find myself messaging you now. I do hope that one day you will realize what it is that I see in you, that being a vast, awe-inspiring mural of mankind's greatest achievements, all of which meld together to create such a perfect creature.