heres　what　was　going　through　my　mind：　〃oh；　ill　never　reach　peter　this　way。　who　knows；　maybe　he　doesnt　even　like　me　and　he　doesnt　need　anyone　to　confide　in。
  maybe　he　only　thinks　of　me　in　a　casual　sort　of　way。　ill　have　to　go　back　to　being　alone；　without　anyone　to　confide　in　and　without　peter；　without　hope；　fort　or　anything　to　look　forward　to。　oh；　if　only　i　could　rest　my　head　on　his　shoulder　and　not　feel　so　hopelessly　alone　and　deserted！　who　knows；　maybe　he　doesnt　care　for　me　at　all　and　looks　at　the　others　in　the　same　tender　way。　maybe　i　only　imagined　it　was　especially　for　me。　oh；　peter；　if　only　you　could　hear　me　or　see　me。　if　the　truth　is　disappointing；　i　wont　be　able　to　bear　it。鈥?br />
  a　little　later　i　felt　hopeful　and　full　of　expectation　again；　though　my　tears　were　still　flowing　　on　the　inside。
  yours；　anne
  m。　frank
  sunday；　february　20；　1944
  what　happens　in　other　peoples　houses　during　the　rest　of　the　week　happens　here　in　the　annex　on　sundays。　while　other　people　put　on　their　best　clothes　and　go　strolling　in　the　sun；　we　scrub；　sweep　and　do　the　laundry。
  eight　oclock。　though　the　rest　of　us　prefer　to　sleep　in；
  dussel　gets　up　at　eight。　he　goes　to　the　bathroom；　then　downstairs；　then　up　again　and　then　to　the　bathroom；　where　he　devotes　a　whole　hour　to　washing　himself。
  nine…thirty。　the　stoves　are　lit；　the　blackout　screen　is　taken　down；　and　mr。　van　daan　heads　for　the　bathroom。　one　of　my　sunday　morning　ordeals　is　having　to　lie　in　bed　and　look　at　dussels　back　when　hes　praying。　i　know　it　sounds　strange；　but　a　praying　dussel　is　a　terrible　sight　to　behold。　its　not　that　he　cries　or　gets　sentimental；　not　at　all；　but　he　does　spend　a　quarter　of　an　hour　　an　entire　fifteen　minutes　　rocking　from　his　toes　to　his　heels。　back　and　forth；　back　and　forth。　it　goes　on　forever；　and　if　i　dont　shut　my　eyes　tight；　my　head　starts　to　spin。
  ten…fifteen。　the　van　daans　whistle；　the　bathrooms　free。　in　the　frank　family　quarters；　the　first　sleepy　faces　are　beginning　to　emerge　from　their　pillows。　then　everything　happens　fast；　fast；　fast。　margot　and　i　take　turns　doing　the　laundry。　since　its　quite　cold　downstairs；　we　put　on　pants　and　head　scarves。　meanwhile；　father　is　busy　in　the　bathroom。　either　margot　or　i　have　a　turn　in　the　bathroom　at　eleven；　and　then　were　all　clean。
  eleven…thirty。　breakfast。　i　wont　dwell　on　this；　since　theres　enough　talk　about　food　without　my　bringing　the　subject　up　as　well。
  twelve…fifteen。　we　each　go　our　separate　ways。　father；　clad　in　overalls；　gets　down　on　his　hands　and　knees　and　brushes　the　rug　so　vigorously　that　the　room　is　enveloped　in　a　cloud　of　dust。　mr。　dussel　makes　the　beds　（all　wrong；　of　course）；　always　whistling　the　same　beethoven　violin　concerto　as　he　goes　about　his　work。　mother　can　be　heard　shuffling　around　the　attic　as　she　hangs　up　the　washing。　mr。　van　daan　puts　on　his　hat　and　disappears　into　the　lower　regions；　usually　followed　by　peter　and　mouschi。　mrs。
  van　d。　dons　a　long　apron；　a　black　wool　jacket　and　overshoes；　winds　a　red　wool　scarf　around　her　head；　scoops　up　a　bundle　of　dirty　laundry　and；　with　a　well…rehearsed　washerwomans　nod；　heads　downstairs。　margot　and　i　do　the　dishes　and　straighten　up　the　room。
  wednesday；　february　23；1944
  my　dearest　kitty；
  the　weathers　been　wonderful　since　yesterday；　and　ive　perked　up　quite　a　bit。　my　writing；　the　best　thing　i　have；　is　ing　along　well。　i　go　to　the　attic　almost　every　morning　to　get　the　stale　air　out　of　my　lungs。　this　morning　when　i　went　there；　peter　was　busy　cleaning　up。　he　finished　quickly　and　came　over　to　where　i　was　sitting　on
  my　favorite　spot　on　the　floor。　the　two　of　us　looked　out　at　the　blue　sky；　the　bare　chestnut　tree　glistening　with　dew；　the　seagulls　and　other　birds　glinting　with　silver　as　they　swooped　through　the　air；　and　we　were　so　moved　and　entranced　that　we　couldnt　speak。　he　stood　with　his　head　against　a　thick　beam；　while　i　sat。　we　breathed　in　the　air；　looked　outside　and　both　felt　that　the　spell　shouldnt　be　broken　with　words。　we　remained　like　this　for　a　long　while；　and　by　the　time　he　had　to　go　to　the　loft　to　chop　wood；　i　knew　he　was　a　good；　decent　boy。　he　climbed　the　ladder　to　the　loft；　and　i　followed；　during　the　fifteen　minutes　he　was　chopping　wood；　we　didnt　say　a　word　either。　i　watched　him　from　where　i　was　standing；　and　could　see　he　was　obviously　doing　his　best　to　chop　the　right　way　and　show　off　his　strength。　but　i　also　looked　out　the　open　window；　letting　my　eyes　roam　over　a　large　part　of　amsterdam；　over　the　rooftops　and　on　to　the　horizon；　a　strip　of　blue　so　pale　it　was　almost　invisible。
  〃as　long　as　this　exists；〃　i　thought；　〃this　sunshine　and　this　cloudless　sky；　and　as　long　as　i　can　enjoy　it；　how　can　i　be　sad？鈥?br />
  the　best　remedy　for　those　who　are　frightened；　lonely　or　unhappy　is　to　go　outside；　somewhere　they　can　be　alone；　alone　with　the　sky；　nature　and　god。　for　then　and　only　then　can　you　feel　that　everything　is　as　it　should　be　and　that　god　wants　people　to　be　happy　amid　natures　beauty　and　simplicity。
  as　long　as　this　exists；　and　that　should　be　forever；　i　know　that　there　will　be　solace　for　every　sorrow；　whatever　the　circumstances。　i　firmly　believe　that　nature　can　bring　fort　to　all　who　suffer。
  oh；　who　knows；　perhaps　it　wont　be　long　before　i　can　share　this　overwhelming　feeling　of　happiness　with　someone　who　feels　the　same　as　i　do。
  yours；　anne
  p。s。　thoughts：　to　peter。
  weve　been　missing　out　on　so　much　here；　so　very　much；　and　for　such　a　long　time。　i　miss　it　just　as　much　as　you　do。　im　not　talking　about　external　things；　since　were　well　provided　for　in　that　sense；　i　mean　the　internal　things。　like　you；　i　long　for　freedom　and　fresh　air；　but　i　think　weve　been　amply　pensated　for　their　loss。　on　the　inside；　i　mean。
  this　morning；　when　i　was　sitting　in　front　of　the　window　and　taking　a　long；　deep　look　outside　at　god　and　nature；　i　was　happy；　just　plain　happy。　peter；　as　long　as　people　feel　that　kind　of　happiness　within　themselves；　the　joy　of　nature；　health　and　much　more
  besides；　theyll　always　be　able　to　recapture　that　happiness。
  riches；　prestige；　everything　can　be　lost。　but　the　happiness　in　your　own　heart　can　only　be　dimmed；　it　will　always　be　there；　as　long　as　you　live；　to　make　you　happy　again。
  whenever　youre　feeling　lonely　or　sad；　try　going　to　the　loft　on　a　beautiful　day　and　looking　outside。　not　at　the　houses　and　the　rooftops；　but　at　the　sky。　as　long　as　you　can　look　fearlessly　at　the　sky；　youll　know　that　youre　pure　within　and　will　find　happiness　once　more。
  sunday；　february　27；　1944
  my　dearest　kitty；
  from　early　in　the　morning　to　late　at　night；　all　i　do　is　think　about　peter。　i　fall　asleep　with　his　image　before　my　eyes；　dream　about　him　and　wake　up　with　him　still　looking　at　me。
  i　have　the　strong　feeling　that　peter　and　i　arent　really　as　different　as　we　may　seem　on　the　surface；　and　ill　explain　why：　neither　peter　nor　i　have　a　mother。　his　is　too　superficial；　likes　to　flirt　and　doesnt　concern　herself　much　with　what　goes　on　in　his　head。　mine　takes　an　active　interest　in　my　life；　but　has　no　tact；　sensitivity　or　motherly　understanding。
  both　peter　and　i　are　struggling　with　our　innermost　feelings。　were　still　unsure　of　ourselves　and　are　too　vulnerable；　emotionally；　to　be　dealt　with　so　roughly。　whenever　that　happens；　i　want　to　run　outside　or　hide　my　feelings。　instead；　i　bang　the　pots　and　pans；　splash　the　water　and　am　generally　noisy；　so　that　everyone　wishes　i　were　miles　away。　peters　reaction　is　to　shut　himself　up；　say　little；　sit　quietly　and　daydream；　all　the　while　carefully　hiding　his　true　self。
  but　how　and　when　will　we　finally　reach　each　other？
  i　dont　know　how　much　longer　i　can　continue　to　keep　this　yearning　under　control。
  yours；　anne
  m。　frank
  monday；　february　28；　1944
  my　dearest　kitty；
  its　like　a　nightmare；　one　that　goes　on　long　after　im　awake。　i　see　him　nearly　every　hour　of　the　day　and　yet　i　cant　be　with　him；　i　cant　let　the　others　notice；　and　i　have　to　pretend　to　be　cheerful；　though　my　heart　is　aching。
  peter　schiff　and　peter　van　daan　have　melted　into　one　peter；　whos　good　and　kind　and　whom　i　long　for　desperately。　mothers　horrible；　fathers　nice；　which　makes　him　even　more　exasperating；　and　margots　the　worst；　since　she　takes　advantage　of　my　smiling　face　to　claim　me　for　herself；　when　all　i　want　is　to　be　left　alone。
  peter　didnt　join　me　in　the　attic；　but　went　up　to　the　loft　to　do　some　carpentry　work。
  at　every　rasp　and　bang；　another　chunk　of　my　courage　broke　off　and　i　was　even　more　unhappy。　in　the　distance　a　clock　was　tolling　be　pure　in　heart；　be　pure　in　mind！鈥?br />
  im　sentimental；　i　know。　im　despondent　and　foolish；　i　know　that　too。
  oh；　help　me！
  yours；　anne
  m。　frank
  w锛穡銆倄iaoshuo　txt锛?br />
  MARCH；　1944
  澶В诲鐢煟诲皬；璇矗弧ǎ荤綉
  wednesday；　march　1；　1944
  dearest　kitty；
  my　own　affairs　have　been　pushed　to　the　background　by　。　。　。　a　break…in。　im　boring　you　with　all　my　break…ins；　but　what　can　i　do　when　burglars　take　such　pleasure　in　honoring　gies　&　go。　with　their　presence？　this　incident　is　much　more　plicated　than　the　last　one；　in　july　1943。
  last　night　at　seven…thirty　mr。　van　daan　was　heading；　as　usual；　for　mr。　kuglers　office　when　he　saw　that　both　the　glass　door　and　the　office　door　were　open。　he　was　surprised；　but　he　went　on　through　and　was　even　more　astonished　to　see　that　the　alcove　door