Alison, my Alison.
You are my best friend. I don't care what your name is, or even that you weren't who I thought you were. I don't care that you were a bitch to me, and I don't care that if it weren't for a mix-up, we would never have been friends.
Alison, dearest Alison.
I thought you were dead. You don't know how happy I was to learn that you were alive. I'm not even going to mention how crushed I was to know that you weren't the you I knew at all, but a different you, if that makes sense.
Alison, sweet Alison.
I sometimes just close my eyes and imagine us all together on a boat, at the beach, in the mall. I pretend that you really did see something in us, and weren't just using us to get the life you craved. Sometimes I wish that I'd just died and gone to heaven, right then and there. To my heaven, with my Alison and my crazy Aria and my insecure Hanna and my practical Spencer. I loved all of you, but I loved you best, Ali.
Alison, wicked Alison.
You lied. You lied to everyone. Even your own parents didn't know who you were, still don't know who you were. No one knows who really disappeared, or that you were Courtney and not Alison. I would've hated the other you, the you that you weren't. But I fell in love with you. I don't care what the rest of the world says, what names they call you, who they say you are.
Alison, beautiful Alison.
I kissed you. I can't forget that. You were my first love, my first best friend forever, my first crush. And then it all crumbled. You didn't love me, did you Ali? Everyone loved you, and you could've taken your pick. I like to think that maybe you would've chosen me if you'd had the chance. Eventually, you would've taken me as your own. That maybe we could've lived happily ever after, the end. I guess there will never be a happy ending for me or you or us. You will be frozen in my memory forever as Alison.
Alison, my Alison.
Emily Fields read over the note. She must've written it a long time ago, after the explosion in the Poconos.
Alison… She had been Emily's world from sixth grade to… well, Emily supposed, she still was. Everywhere. Images of Ali. But Emily still wasn't sure exactly WHAT or WHO Ali was. Was Ali the real Alison DiLaurentis, or was Ali Courtney DiLaurentis playing pretend?
At twenty-one years old, Emily Fields still had to learn who she really was. Was she Ali's sidekick? Best friend to Hanna Marin, Spencer Hastings, and Aria Montgomery? That lesbian swimmer chick?
"Ali." The word slipped off her tongue. "Who am I? Help me, Alison!"
But there was no reply. As much as Emily liked to believe that somewhere Alison DiLaurentis was hiding in the shadows waiting to pop out – SURPRISE! – and tell Emily that it was all a joke and that she was really, truly Alison, and that the crazy girl had lied, she wouldn't let herself fall into that trap.
Emily Fields was twenty-one years old and stuck in the same rut she had been trapped in since seventh grade. There was no hope of escaping Ali.
Alison, my Alison.