Dear future hubster

Dear future hubster, there are many thins being said about tattoos - some accurate, others less so.  They hurt, yes - don't let anyone tell you otherwise -, but some of them aren't that bad. Where they hurt more is a frequent subject of debates. Some say it's worse closer to the bone, some say it's worse wherever you're a bit fleshy. If you're fleshy closer to your bones, you might be in for some fun.  And then there's the very philosophical discussion around when and why it hurts.  The practicalities to decrease the physical pain are fairly simple: don't be drunk, try to be rested, don't go there hungry (you're gonna faint my friend), try to be hydrated but not too much because then you have to hold it, have something or somebody distract you, give yourself enough time. But then the other pain, the one under your skin. Does it hurt more when it's fresh? Or does it get worse the later you treat it? Do you get your tattoos to cover...

Dear future hubster, please remember that your words matter. What you say will stay with me longer than you would think, or would like.  If you don't want to make a promise, don't say things that sound like one, because you're talking to somebody who will remember that you said we can play house, and who will be anxiously looking forward to the time we can, and will be disappointed for a very long time because we didn't. You're talking to somebody who is way too excited about putting on the onesies even in the dead of summer, because you said we would, and who fully understands why their current location at the bottom of the winter clothes' pile might cancel that plan, but who is not at all consoled by that logical explanation. You said "don't think I don't love you" to somebody who was smitten and swept off her feet by that, and who now can't shake the thought of the double negative it was wrapped in. 

Dear future hubster, where do you go when you're lonely? When you can't find your place, when you can't find your peace? Do you look for it everywhere? Do you wait for it to come to you? Do you go quiet when you hurt? Is that how I would know? Does it hurt when you're quiet, when you feel like you can't talk, when you feel like you don't know what to say, you don't know how to say it? Do you try to fill the silence, so you don't hear your racing mind? Do you try to listen to the silence, try to hear the answer? Do you hide out, waiting for the dark grey clouds to go away? Do you hope to be found? Do you know I'm trying to find you?

Dear future hubster, By now you should have somehow realised that your future wife is a bit of a traveller. You might have also noticed that although I am one to go with the changes, I might not necessarily be one who enjoys them immensely (to put it mildly). Probably because I ache to belong? But I also ache to be recognised, appreciated, wanted, and if it doesn't happen, I get itchy to look for it elsewhere. Luckily, I'm not the only one. The upside of being one constantly on the search is that there are many others, and the more I move around, the more of them I know. And the best thing that can happen to anybody arriving to a new place after having left everything behind yet another time is to know that somebody is already there. Somebody of the same tribe, somebody who knows how it feels, how it's exciting and terrifying and shiny brand new and sad and funny and joyful and overwhelming and bizarre. Somebody who doesn't ask the big whys, just tells you the little...

Dear future hubster, although we've established long ago that I only purchase clothing items I can put on and take off without external help (which often means thoroughly examining the zipper and its accessibility, on some occasions, it would still make practical sense if you were around. When I forget what the Caribbean sun can do to me, and as a consequence, I need to attend to my injuries in the weirdest places, for instance.