March 19, 1940

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March 19, 1940

Dear Diary,

Shalom. I'm going to miss this old attic, although it's virtually empty but for the memories. Some are good, some are bad, but they are none the less memories. I remember when I first arrived only a year ago. It was dark outside, and I was scared. Cassie had held my hand, told me everything would be alright, but I didn't believe her. But then, I had met Mrs. Simon. Her eyes had been warm and inviting, and when she had told me everything would be alright, for some reason I believed her. I remember my little cousin Rebekka's first birthday, not a month after we moved in. We had no money for presents or a party, but wealthy Mrs. Simon had surprised us all by baking a cake, and she gave Rebekka a pretty little doll that now, at two years old, she still cherishes. I remember how the younger children would get restless, and how Mrs. Simon brought us sharpies one day, and told us we could draw on the walls. Of course, Mama had thrown a fit. She made us paint over it, but it was none the less great fun. Every little item in the attic reminds me of a different memory. I'm afraid that I will forget without these daily reminders, and I never want to forget such magnificent memories. But besides memories, something of great importance lies between these walls. Family. I leave early tomorrow morning, but I've already said my goodbyes. We all cried, and my heart ached. Goodbye for now, Diary. I must go say goodbye a second time.

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