Yours, Anne
Saturday, 1 April, 1944
Dear Kitty.
And yet everything is still so difficult, I expect you can guess what I mean, can’t you? I am so longing for a kiss, the kiss that is so long in coming. I wonder if all the time he still regards me as a friend? Am I nothing more?
You know and I know that I am strong, that I can carry most of my burdens alone. I have never been used to sharing my troubles with anyone, I have never clung to my mother, but now I would so love to lay my head on his shoulder just once and remain still.
I can’t, I simply can’t ever forget that dream of Peter’s cheek, when it was all, all so good! Wouldn’t he long for it too? Is it that he is just too shy to acknowledge his love? Why does he want me with him so often? Oh, why doesn’t he speak?
I’d better stop; I must be quiet; I shall remain strong and with a bit of patience things will work out, but—and that is the worst of it—it looks just as if I’m running after him, I am always the one who goes upstairs, he doesn’t come to me.
But that is just because of the rooms, and he is sure to understand the difficulty.
Oh, yes, and there’s more he’ll understand.
Yours, Anne
