But we're still alive, and much of the time it still tastes good too! Yours, Anne M. Frank
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 5, 1944
My dearest Kitty, For a long time now I didn't know why I was bothering to do any schoolwork.
The end of the war still seemed so far away, so unreal, like a fairy tale.
If the war isn't over by September, I won't go back to school, since I don't want to be two years behind.
Peter filled my days, nothing but Peter, dreams and thoughts until Saturday night,
when I felt so utterly miserable; oh, it was awful.
I held back my tears when I was with Peter, laughed uproariously with the van Daans as we drank lemon punch
and was cheerful and excited, but the minute I was alone I knew I was going to cry my eyes out.
I slid to the floor in my nightgown and began by saying my prayers, very fervently.
Then I drew my knees to my chest, lay my head on my arms and cried, all huddled up on the bare floor.
A loud sob brought me back down to earth, and I choked back my tears, since I didn't want anyone next door to hear me.
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