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bathroom； which they often do； my whole body rises in revolt。
yesterday i read an article on blushing by sis heyster。 it was as if shed addressed it directly to me。 not that i blush easily； but the rest of the article did apply。 what she basically says is that during puberty girls withdraw into themselves and begin thinking about the wondrous changes taking place in their bodies。 i feel that too； which probably accounts for my recent embarrassment over margot； mother and father。 on the other hand； margot is a lot shyer than i am； and yet shes not in the least embarrassed。
i think that whats happening to me is so wonderful； and i dont just mean the changes taking place on the outside of my body； but also those on the inside。 i never discuss myself or any of these things with others； which is why i have to talk about them to myself。 whenever i get my period （and thats only been three times）； i have the feeling that in spite of all the pain； disfort and mess； im carrying around a sweet secret。 so even though its a nuisance； in a certain way im always looking forward to the time when ill feel that secret inside me once again。
sis heyster also writes that girls my age feel very insecure about themselves and are just beginning to discover that theyre individuals with their own ideas； thoughts and habits。 id just turned thirteen when i came here； so i started thinking about myself and realized that ive bee an 〃independent person〃 sooner than most girls。
sometimes when i lie in bed at night i feel a terrible urge to touch my breasts and listen to the quiet； steady beating of my heart。
unconsciously； i had these feelings even before i came here。 once when i was spending the night at jacques； i could no longer restrain my curiosity about her body； which shed always hidden from me and which id never seen。 i asked her whether； as proof of our friendiship； we could touch each others breasts。 jacque refused。
i also had a terrible desire to kiss her； which i did。 every time i see a female nude； such as the venus in my art history book； i go into ecstasy。 sometimes i find them so exquisite i have to struggle to hold back my tears。 if only i had a girlfriend！
thursday； january 6； 1944
dearest kitty；
my longing for someone to talk to has bee so unbearable that i somehow took it into my head to select peter for this role。 on the few occasions when i have gone to peters room during the day； ive always thought it was nice and cozy。 but peters too
polite to show someone the door when theyre bothering him； so ive never dared to stay long。 ive always been afraid hed think i was a pest。 ive been looking for an excuse to linger in his room and get him talking without his noticing； and yesterday i got my chance。 peter； you see； is currently going through a crossword…puzzle craze； and he doesnt do anything else all day。 i was helping him； and we soon wound up sitting across from each other at his table； peter on the chair and me on the divan。
it gave me a wonderful feeling when i looked into his dark blue eyes and saw how bashful my unexpected visit had made him。 i could read his innermost thoughts； and in his face i saw a look of helplessness and uncertainty as to how to behave； and at the same time a flicker of awareness of his masculinity。 i saw his shyness； and i melted。
i wanted to say； 〃tell me about yourself。 look beneath my chatty exterior。〃 but i found that it was easier to think up questions than to ask them。
the evening came to a close； and nothing happened； except that i told him about the article on blushing。 not what i wrote you； of course； just that he would grow more secure as he got older。 鈥�
that night i lay in bed and cried my eyes out； all the i while making sure no one could hear me。 the idea that i had to beg peter for favors was simply revolting。 but people will do almost anything to satisfy their longings； take me； for example； ive made up my mind to visit peter more often and； somehow； get him to talk to me。
you mustnt think im in love with peter； because im not。 if the van daans had had a daughter instead of a son； id have tried to make friends with her。
this morning i woke up just before seven and immediately remembered what id been dreaming about。 i was sitting on a chair and across from me was peter。 。 。 peter schiff。 we were looking at a book of drawings by mary bos。 the dream was so vivid i can even remember some of the drawings。 but that wasnt all the dream went on。 peters eyes suddenly met mine； and i stared for a long time into those velvety brown eyes。 then he said very softly； 〃if id only known； id have e to you long ago！〃 i turned abruptly away； overe by emotion。 and then i felt a soft； oh…so…cool and gentle cheek against mine； and it felt so good； so good 。 。 。
at that point i woke up； still feeling his cheek against mine and his brown eyes staring deep into my heart； so deep that he could read how much id loved him and how much i still do。 again my eyes filled with tears； and i was sad because id lost him once more； and yet at the same time glad because i knew with certainty that peter is still the only one for me。
its funny； but i often have such vivid images in my dreams。 one night i saw grammy* ＇*grammy is annes grandmother on her fathers side； and grandma her grandmother on her mothers side。＇ so clearly that i could even make out her skin of soft； crinkly velvet。 another time grandma appeared to me as a guardian angel。 after that it was hanneli； who still symbolizes to me the suffering of my friends as well as that of jews in general； so that when im praying for her； im also praying for all the jews and all those in need。
and now peter； my dearest peter。 ive never had such a clear mental image of him。 i dont need a photograph； i can see him oh so well。
yours； anne
friday； ＇anuary 7； 1944
dearest kitty；
im such an idiot。 i forgot that i havent yet told you the story of my one true love。
when i was a little girl； way back in kindergarten； i took a liking to sally kimmel。
his father was gone； and he and his mother lived with an aunt。 one of sallys cousins was a good…looking； slender； dark…haired boy named appy； who later turned out to look like a movie idol and aroused more admiration than the short； ical； chubby sally。 for a long time we went everywhere together； but aside from that； my love was unrequited until peter crossed my path。 i had an out…and…out crush on him。 he liked me too； and we were inseparable for one whole summer。 i can still see us walking hand in hand through our neighborhood； peter in a white cotton suit and me in a short summer dress。 at the end of the summer vacation he went to the seventh grade at the middle school； while i was in the sixth grade at the grammar school。 hed pick me up on the way home； or id pick him up。 peter was the ideal boy： tall； good…looking and slender； with a serious； quiet and intelligent face。 he had dark hair； beautiful brown eyes； ruddy cheeks and a nicely pointed nose。 i was crazy about his smile； which made him look so boyish and mischievous。
id gone away to the countryside during summer vacation； and when i came back； peter was no longer at his old address； hed moved and was living with a much older boy； who apparently told him i was just a kid； because peter stopped seeing me。 i loved him so much that i didnt want to face the truth。 i kept clinging to him until the day i finally realized that if i continued to chase after him； people would say i was boy…crazy。
the years went by。 peter hung around with girls his own age and no longer bothered to say hello to me。 i started school at the jewish lyceum； and several boys in my class were in love with me。 i enjoyed it and felt honored by their attentions； but that was all。 later on； hello had a terrible crush on me； but as ive already told you； i never fell in love again。
theres a saying： 〃time heals all wounds。〃 thats how it was with me。 i told myself id forgotten peter and no longer liked him in the least。 but my memories of him were so strong that i had to admit to myself that the only reason i no longer liked him was that i was jealous of the other girls。 this morning i realized that nothing has changed；
on the contrary； as ive