SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 1944
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 1944
My dearest Kitty,
From early in the morning to late at night, all I do is think about Peter. I fall asleep with his image before my eyes, dream about him and wake up with him still looking at me.
I have the strong feeling that Peter and I aren't really as different as we may seem on the surface, and I'll explain why: neither Peter nor I have a mother. His is too superficial, likes to flirt and doesn't concern herself much with what goes on in his head. Mine takes an active interest in my life, but has no tact, sensitivity or motherly understanding.
Both Peter and I are struggling with our innermost feelings. We're still unsure of ourselves and are too vulnerable, emotionally, to be dealt with so roughly. Whenever that happens, I want to run outside or hide my feelings. Instead, I bang the pots and pans, splash the water and am generally noisy, so that everyone wishes I were miles away. Peter's reaction is to shut himself up, say little, sit quietly and daydream, all the while carefully hiding his true self.
But how and when will we finally reach each other?
I don't know how much longer I can continue to keep this yearning under control.
Yours, Anne M. Fran
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