ever before. Peter is good and he’s a darling, but still there’s no denying that there’s a lot about him that disappoints me. Especially his dislike of religion and all his talk about food and various other things don’t appeal to me. Yet I feel quite convinced that we shall never quarrel now and we’ve made that straightforward agreement together. Peter is a peace loving person, he’s tolerant and happy-go-lucky. He lets me say a lot of things to him that he would never accept from his mother, he tries most persistently to keep his things in order. And yet why must he keep his innermost self to himself and why am I never allowed there? By nature he is more closed than I am, I agree, but I know—and from my own experience— that at some time or other even the most uncommunicative people long just as much as others, if not more, to find someone in whom they can confide.
Both Peter and I have spent our most meditative years in the ‘Secret Annexe.’ We often discuss the future, the past, and the present, but as I’ve already said, I still seem to miss the real thing and yet I know that it’s there.
Yours, Anne
Thursday, 15 June, 1944
Dear Kitty, I wonder if it’s because I haven’t been able to poke my nose outdoors for so long that I’ve grown so crazy about everything to do with nature? I can perfectly well remember that there was a time when a deep blue sky, the song of the birds, moonlight and flowers could never have kept me spellbound. That’s changed since I’ve been here.
Once at Whitsun, for example, when it was so warm, I stayed awake on purpose until half past eleven one evening in order to have a good look at the moon all by myself. Alas, the sacrifice was in vain, as the moon gave far too much light and I didn’t dare risk opening a window. Another time, some
