Don't I mean anything more? You and I both know that I'm strong, that I can carry most burdens alone.
I've never been used to sharing my worries with anyone, and I've never clung to a mother,
but I'd love to lay my head on his shoulder and just sit there quietly. I can't forget that dream of Peter's cheek.
Does he have the same longing? Is he just too shy to say he loves me? Why does he want me near him so much?
Oh, why doesn't he say something? I've got to stop, I've got to be calm. I'll try to be strong again, and if I'm patient, the rest will follow.
But -- and this is the worst part -- I seem to be chasing him. I'm always the one who has to go upstairs; he never comes to me.
But that's because of the rooms, and he understands why I object. Oh, I'm sure he understands more than I think. Yours, Anne M. Frank
MONDAY, APRIL 3, 1944
My dearest Kitty, Contrary to my usual practice, I'm going to write you a detailed description of the food situation,
since it's become a matter of some difficulty and importance, not only here in the Annex, but in all of Holland.
In the twenty-one months we've lived here, we've been through a good many “food cycles” -- you'll understand what that means in a moment.
A “food cycle” is a period in which we have only one particular dish or type of vegetable to eat.
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