#goodrichhackett

Look, Peter, the sky. What a lovely day. Aren’t the clouds beautiful? You know what I do when it seems I can’t stand being cooped up for one more minute? I think myself out. I think of myself on a walk in the park where I used to go with Pim. Where the daffodils and the crocus and the violets grow down the slopes. You know the most wonderful thing about thinking yourself out? You can have it any way you like. You can have roses and violets and chrysanthemums all blooming at the same time… It’s funny… I used to take it all for granted… and now I’ve gone crazy about everything to do with nature. Haven’t you?

We’ve had bad news. The people from whom Miep got our ration books have been arrested. So we have had to cut down on our food. Our stomachs are so empty that they rumble and make strange noises all in different keys. Mr. Van Daan’s is deep and low, like a bass fiddle. Mine is high, whistling like a flute. As we all sit around waiting for supper, it’s like an orchestra tuning up. It only needs Toscamini to raise his baton and we’d be off in the ride of the Valkyries. Monday, the sixth of March, nineteen – forty – four. Mr. Kraler is in the hospital. It seems he has ulcers. Pim says we are his ulcers. Miep has to run the business and us too. The Americans have landed on the southern tip of Italy. Father looks for a quick finish to the war. Mr. Dussel is waiting every day for the warehouse man to demand more money. Have I been skipping too much from one subject to another? I can’t help it. I fell that Spring is coming. I feel it in my whole body and soul. I feel utterly confused. I am longing…so longing… for longing… for everything… for friends… for someone to talk to…someone who understands… someone young, who feels as I do…