My answer:Dearest Margot,I think the best thing is simply to wait and see what happens. It can’t be muchlonger before Peter and I will have to decide whether to go back to the waywe were or do something else. I don’t know how it’ll turn out; I can’t see anyfarther than the end of my nose.But I’m certain of one thing: if Peter and I do become friends, I’m going totell him you’re also very fond of him and are prepared to help him if he needsyou. You wouldn’t want me to, I’m sure, but I don’t care; I don’t know whatPeter thinks of you, but I’ll ask him when the time comes.It’s certainly nothing bad — on the contrary! You’re welcome to join us in theattic, or wherever we are. You won’t be disturbing us, because we have anunspoken agreement to talk only in the evenings when it’s dark.Keep your spirits up! I’m doing my best, though it’s not always easy. Yourtime may come sooner than you think.Yours, AnneTHURSDAY, MARCH 23, 1944Dearest Kitty,Things are more or less back to normal here. Our coupon men have beenreleased from prison, thank goodness!Miep’s been back since yesterday, but today it was her husband’s turn to taketo his bed-chills and fever, the usual flu symptoms. Bep is better, though shestill has a cough, and Mr. Kleiman will have to stay home for a long time.Yesterday a plane crashed nearby. The crew was able to parachute out intime. It crashed on top of a school, but luckily there were no children inside.There was a small fire and a couple of people were killed. As the airmenmade their descent, the Germans sprayed them with bullets. TheAmsterdammers who saw it seethed with rage at such a dastardly deed. Weby which I mean the ladies-were also scared out of our wits. Brrr, I hate thesound of gunfire.Now about myself.I was with Peter yesterday and, somehow, I honestly don’t know how, wewound up talking about sex. I’d made up my mind a long time ago to ask hima few things. He knows everything; when I said that Margot and I weren’tvery well informed, he was amazed. I told him a lot about Margot and me andMother and Father and said that lately I didn’t dare ask them anything. Heoffered to enlighten me, and I gratefully accepted: he described howcontraceptives work, and I asked him very boldly how boys could tell theywere grown up. He had to think about that one; he said he’d tell me tonight. Itold him what had happened to Jacque, and said that girls are defenselessagainst strong boys. “Well, you don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said.When I came back that evening, he told me how it is with boys. Slightlyembarrassing, but still awfully nice to be able to discuss it with him. Neitherhe nor I had ever imagined we’d be able to talk so openly to a girl or a boy,respectively, about such intimate matters. I think I know everything now. Hetold me a lot about what he called Prasentivmitteln* * Should bePraservativmitteln: prophylactics in German.That night in the bathroom Margot and I were talking about Bram and Trees,two friends of hers.This morning I was in for a nasty surprise: after breakfast Peter beckoned meupstairs. “That was a dirty trick you played on me,” he said. “I heard whatyou and Margot were saying in the bathroom last night. I think you justwanted to find out how much Peter knew and then have a good laugh!”I was stunned! I did everything I could to talk him out of that outrageousidea; I could understand how he must have felt, but it just wasn’t true!”Oh no, Peter,” I said. “I’d never be so mean. I told you I wouldn’t pass onanything you said to me and I won’t. To put on an act like that and thendeliberately be so mean. . .No,Peter, that’s not my idea ofa joke.It wouldn’t be fair. I didn’t say anything, honest. Won’t you believe me?” Heassured me he did, but I think we’ll have to talk about it again sometime. I’vedone nothing all day but worry about it. Thank goodness he came right outand said what was on his mind. Imagine if he’d gone around thinking I couldbe that mean. He’s so sweet!Now I’ll have to tell him everything!Yours, AnneFRIDAY, MARCH 24, 1944Dear Kitty,I often go up to Peter’s room after dinner nowadays to breathe in the freshevening air. You can get around to meaningful conversations more quickly inthe dark than with the sun tickling your face. It’s cozy and snug sitting besidehim on a chair and looking outside. The van Daans and Dussel make thesilliest remarks when I disappear into his room.”Annes zweite Heimat,”* * Anne’s second home they say, or”Is it proper for a gentleman to receive young girls in his room at night withthe lights out?” Peter has amazing presence of mind in the face of these socalled witticisms.My mother, incidentally, is also bursting with curiosity and simply dying toask what we talk about, only she’s secretly afraid I’d refuse to answer. Petersays the grown-ups are just jealous because we’re young and that weshouldn’t take their obnoxious comments to heart.Sometimes he comes downstairs to get me, but that’s awkward too, becausein spite of all his precautions his face turns bright red and he can hardly getthe words out of his mouth. I’m glad I don’t blush; it must be extremelyunpleasant.Besides, it bothers me that Margot has to sit downstairs all by herself, whileI’m upstairs enjoying Peter’s company.But what can I do about it? I wouldn’t mind it if she came, but she’d just bethe odd one out, sitting there like a lump on a log.I’ve had to listen to countless remarks about our sudden friendship. I can’t tellyou how often the conversation at meals has been about an Annex wedding,should the war last another five years. Do we take any notice of this parentalchitchat? Hardly, since it’s all so silly. Have my parents forgotten that theywere young once? Apparently they have. At any rate, they laugh at us whenwe’re serious, and they’re serious when we’re joking.I don’t know what’s going to happen next, or whether we’ll run out of thingsto say. But if it goes on like this, we’ll eventually be able to be togetherwithout talking. If only his parents would stop acting so strangely. It’sprobably because they don’t like seeing me so often; Peter and I certainlynever tell them what we talk about. Imagine if they knew we were discussingsuch intimate things.I’d like to ask Peter whether he knows what girls look like down there. I don’tthink boys are as complicated as girls. You can easily see what boys look likein photographs or pictures of male nudes, but with women it’s different. Inwomen, the genitals, or whatever they’re called, are hidden between theirlegs. Peter has probably never seen a girl up close. To tell you the truth,neither have I. Boys are a lot easier. How on earth would I go aboutdescribing a girl’s parts? I can tell from what he said that he doesn’t knowexactly how it all fits together. He was talking about the”Muttermund,” * cervix, but that’s on the inside, where you can’t see it.Everything’s pretty well arranged in us women.Until I was eleven or twelve, I didn’t realize there was a second set of labia onthe inside, since you couldn’t see them. What’s even funnier is that I thoughturine came out of the clitoris. I asked Mother one time what that little bumpwas, and she said she didn’t know. She can really play dumb when she wantsto!But to get back to the subject. How on earth can you explain what it all lookslike without any models?Shall I try anyway? Okay, here goes!When you’re standing up, all you see from the front is hair. Between yourlegs there are two soft, cushiony things, also covered with hair, which presstogether when you’re standing, so you can’t see what’s inside. They separatewhen you sit down, and they’re very red and quite fleshy on the inside. In theupper part, between the outer labia, there’s a fold of skin that, on secondthought, looks like a kind of blister. That’s the clitoris. Then come the innerlabia, which are also pressed together in a kind of crease. When they open up,you can see a fleshy little mound, no bigger than the top of my thumb. Theupper part has a couple of small holes in it, which is where the urine comesout. The lower part looks as if it were just skin, and yet that’s where thevagina is. You can barely find it, because the folds of skin hide the opening.The hole’s so small I can hardly imagine how a man could get in there, muchless how a baby could come out. It’s hard enough trying to get your indexfinger inside. That’s all there is, and yet it plays such an important role!Yours, Anne M. FrankSATURDAY, MARCH 25, 1944Dearest Kitty,You never realize how much you’ve changed until after it’s happened. I’vechanged quite drastically, everything about me is different: my opinions,ideas, critical outlook. Inwardly, outwardly, nothing’s the same. And, I mightsafely add, since it’s true, I’ve changed for the better. I once told you that,after years of being adored, it was hard for me to adjust to the harsh reality ofgrown-ups and rebukes. But Father and Mother are largely to blame for myhaving to put up with so much. At home they wanted me to enjoy life, whichwas fine, but here they shouldn’t have encouraged me to agree with them andonly shown me “their” side of all the quarrels and gossip. It was a long timebefore I discovered the score was fifty-fifty. I now know that many blundershave been committed here, by young and old alike. Father and Mother’sbiggest mistake in dealing with the van Daans is that they’re never candid andfriendly (admittedly, the friendliness might have to be feigned). Above all, Iwant to keep the peace, and to neither quarrel nor gossip. With Father andMargot that’s not difficult, but it is with Mother, which is why I’m glad shegives me an occasional rap on the knuckles. You can win Mr. van Daan toyour side by agreeing with him, listening quietly, not saying much and mostof all . . . responding to his teasing and his corny jokes with a joke of yourown. Mrs.van D. can be won over by talking openly to her and admitting when you’rewrong. She also frankly admits her faults, of which she has many. I know alltoo well that she doesn’t think as badly of me as she did in the beginning. Andthat’s simply because I’m honest and tell people right to their faces what Ithink, even when it’s not very flattering. I want to be honest; I think it getsyou further and also makes you feel better about yourself.Yesterday Mrs. van D. was talking about the rice we gave Mr. Kleiman. “Allwe do is give, give, give. But at a certain point I think that enough is enough.If he’d only take the trouble, Mr. Kleiman could scrounge up his own rice.Why should we give away all our supplies? We need them just as badly.””No, Mrs. van Daan,” I replied. “I don’t agree with you.Mr. Kleiman may very well be able to get hold of a little rice, but he doesn’tlike having to worry about it. It’s not our place to criticize the people who arehelping us. We should give them whatever they need if we can possibly spareit. One less plate of rice a week won’t make that much difference; we canalways eat beans.”Mrs. van D. didn’t see it my way, but she added that, even though shedisagreed, she was willing to back down, and that was an entirely differentmatter.Well, I’ve said enough. Sometimes I know what my place is and sometimes Ihave my doubts, but I’ll eventually get where I want to be! I know I will!Especially now that I have help, since Peter helps me through many a roughpatch and rainy day!I honestly don’t know how much he loves me and whether we’ll ever get asfar as a kiss; in any case, I don’t want to force the issue! I told Father I oftengo see Peter and asked if he approved, and of course he did!It’s much easier now to tell Peter things I’d nor- mally keep to myself; forexample, I told him I want to write later on, and if I can’t be a writer, to writein addition to my work.I don’t have much in the way of money or worldly possessions, I’m notbeautiful, intelligent or clever, but I’m happy, and I intend to stay that way! Iwas born happy, I love people, I have a trusting nature, and I’d like everyoneelse to be happy too.Your devoted friend, Anne M. FrankAn empty day, though clear and bright,Is just as dark as any night.(I wrote this a few weeks ago and it no longer holds true, but I included itbecause my poems are so few and far between.)