We are sitting at the table, having dinner, and you just tell me "Never start smoking, please."
You place the sentence into the room like an object of modern art. To only look at it would not lead to understand what it's all about. No, it has to be touched and turned to discover its real form. I wonder where you get this thoughts from, out of the blue.
Deciding to reduce my options, I state the obvious: "I know you don't like it."
"No, I didn't mean that." Your eyes are deep and oh so blue.
A smile comes instinctively to my lips. I understand the form better now. It's an arrow and I can guess what its aim is. "Then what?"
You handle your object of art with very much skilfulness. "Because, when you start to smoke, someday you will tell me you just need to buy some cigarettes. And then you will be gone, never coming back to me."
The arrow reaches its aim and sinks into my heart, wounding me with your adoration. "I promise you: should I ever start smoking, I will always take you with me."