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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�
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�
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