THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL : THE DEFINITIVE EDITION ... - Fidele

Dearest Kitty,
The sun is shining, the sky is deep blue, there's a magnificent breeze, and I'm
longing -- really longing -- for everything: conversation, freedom, friends, being
alone. I long. . . to cry! I feel as if I were about to explode. I know crying
would help, but I can't cry. I'm restless. I walk from one room to another,
breathe through the crack in the window frame, feel my heart beating as if to say,
"Fulfill my longing at last. . ."
I think spring is inside me. I feel spring awakening, I feel it in my entire body
and soul. I have to force myself to act normally. I'm in a state of utter
confusion, don't know what to read, what to write, what to do. I only know that
I'm longing for something. . .
Yours, Anne
186 ANNE FRANK
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 14, 1944
Dearest Kitty,
A lot has changed for me since Saturday. What's happened is this: I was longing
for something (and still am), but. . . a small, a very small, part of the problem
has been resolved.
On Sunday morning I noticed, to my great joy (I'll be honest with you), that Peter
kept looking at me. Not in the usual way. I don't know, I can't explain it, but I
suddenly had the feeling he wasn't as in love with Margot as I used to think. All
day long I tried not to look at him too much, because whenever I did, I caught him
looking at me and then -- well, it made me feel wonderful inside, and that's not a
feeling I should have too often.
Sunday evening everyone, except Pim and me, was clustered around the radio,
listening to the "Immortal Music of the German Masters." Dussel kept twisting and
turning the knobs, which annoyed Peter, and the others too. After restraining
himself for half an hour, Peter asked somewhat irritably if he would stop fiddling
with the radio. Dussel replied in his haughtiest tone, "Ich mach' das schon!"
[I'll decide that.] Peter got angry and made an insolent remark. Mr. van Daan
sided with him, and Dussel had to back down. That was it.
The reason for the disagreement wasn't particularly interesting in and of itself,
but Peter has apparently taken the matter very much to heart, because this
morning, when I was rummaging around in the crate of books in the attic, Peter
came up and began telling me what had happened. I didn't know anything about it,
but Peter soon realized he'd found an attentive listener and started warming up to
his subject.
"Well, it's like this," he said. "I don't usually talk much, since I know
beforehand I'll just be tongue-tied. I start stuttering and blushing and I twist
my words around so much I finally have to stop, because I can't find the right
words. That's what happened yesterday. I meant to say something entirely
different, but once I started, I got all mixed up. It's awful. I used to have a
bad habit, and sometimes I wish I still did: whenever I was mad at someone, I'd
beat them up instead of arguing with them. I know this method won't get me
anywhere, and that's why I admire you. You're never at a loss for words: you say
exactly what you want to say and aren't in the least bit shy."