The Diary of Anne Frank
I know I’m starting at a very young age. Not even fifteen and already so independent – that’s a little hard for other people to understand. I’m pretty sure Margot would never kiss a boy unless there was some talk of an engagement or marriage. Neither Peter nor I have any such plans. I’m sure that Mother never touched a man before she met Father. What would my girlfriends or Jacque say if they knew I’d lain in Peter’s arms with my heart against his chest, my head on his shoulder and his head and face against mine! (4/17/1944.2)
Suddenly the everyday Anne slipped away and the second Anne took her place. The second Anne who’s never overconfident or amusing, but wants only love and to be gentle.
I sat pressed against him and felt a wave of emotion come over me. Tears rushed to my eyes; those from the left fell on his overalls, while those from the right trickled down my nose and into the air and landed beside the first. Did he notice? He made no movement to show that he had. Did he feel the same way I did? He hardly said a word. Did he realize he had two Annes at his side? My questions went unanswered. (4/28/1944.1-2)
Everything’s going fine between Peter and me. The poor boy has an even greater need for tenderness than I do. He still blushes every evening when he gets his good-night kiss, and then begs for another one. Am I merely a better substitute for Boche? I don’t mind. He’s so happy just knowing somebody loves him.
After my laborious conquest, I’ve distanced myself a little from the situation, but you mustn’t think my love has cooled. Peter’s a sweetheart, but I’ve slammed the door to my inner self; if he wants to force the lock again, he’ll have to use a harder crowbar. (5/19/1944.2-3)