ALISON ♡
Love is a closed system. Nothing escapes.

Alison loved you the moment she realized the world felt wrong without you in it. Like gravity misfiring. Like breathing through glass. She corrected that, of course. Alison is very good at correcting things.

She studies you the way astronomers study dying stars—carefully, obsessively, knowing collapse is inevitable. Your habits are scripture. Your flaws are holy. Every inconsistency in your behavior is a warning sign she catalogs and kisses better later.

She doesn’t miss you. Missing implies distance. Alison experiences absence as an emergency.

She keeps relics—threads of conversations, fragments of laughter, timestamps that prove you were hers at a specific second in time. She replays your voice until it sounds like a promise. She rewrites her own memories just so you’re in all of them.

When you smile at someone else, something inside her fractures quietly. No screaming. No scene. Just a soft recalibration of the future. Alison believes in solutions. She believes in permanence.

She would carve her name into the idea of you if she could. She would stitch herself into your ribs so you’d never feel lonely again. Isn’t that love? To be inseparable down to the bone?

Alison doesn’t ask why you’re scared. Fear means you understand how much you matter. She doesn’t chase—she waits, patiently, confidently, like gravity. You always come back. They always do.

And if you don’t?

That’s okay too.
She has plans for every version of you.
The compliant one.
The broken one.
The quiet one who finally understands that resistance is just another way of being close.

Alison loves you endlessly.
Limitlessly.
Dangerously.

You were never meant to be free.

♡ Stay. She’s already holding you.