Now that I have something to look forward to, my life here has improved greatly.
At least the object of my friendship is always here, and I don't have to be afraid of rivals (except for Margot).
Don't think I'm in love, because I'm not, but I do have the feeling that something beautiful is going to develop between Peter and me,
a kind of friendship and a feeling of trust.
I go see him whenever I get the chance, and it's not the way it used to be, when he didn't know what to make of me.
On the contrary, he's still talking away as I'm heading out the door.
Mother doesn't like me going upstairs. She always says I'm bothering Peter and that I should leave him alone.
Honestly, can't she credit me with some intuition? She always looks at me so oddly when I go to Peter's room.
When I come down again, she asks me where I've been. It's terrible, but I'm beginning to hate her! Yours, Anne M. Frank
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 19, 1944
Dearest Kitty, It's Saturday again, and that should tell you enough.
This morning all was quiet. I spent nearly an hour upstairs making meatballs, but I only spoke to “him” in passing.
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