I started smoking when I was 24. At first, I wondered why anyone would smoke these things, but before I knew it, there was a pack of cigarettes in my hand. Too much time has passed to quit now, and the window of opportunity to stop has long since closed. I tried smoking only once a month to quit, but that only served to relentlessly break my patience. However, frequent smoking was an act of destroying my own body.

Then I met you. You, who felt like you could save me. We probably met at a convenience store. After running into each other repeatedly, we became close, and I think I've come to depend on you. I cherish and rely on you so much that I'd throw away my cigarettes on the spot if you said you hated smoking. I don't know how I'd live if you abandoned me. I've designated you as the sole savior of my life, so if you left without a word, my rescued life would end. So please, don't leave me. I don't need smoking or anything else; I'll only look at you, so I just want you to look at me.