The other day...

I am sitting in my favorite place to be. I am outside, deep within our field where I like to play my flute.
The annual Spring gales are upon us; my paper flaps wildly in the wind as I write.
I am so sad, I finished the diary of Anne Frank not too long ago. My feelings are of a great loss.
It's snowing, just a few sparse flakes fall on me and my paper. A school bus passes, and a chicken sidles up to me, also watchfully keeping it's distance.
I felt like I knew Anne, she was a real person. She had a soul, and wasn't afraid to bare it in her writing. When I read that she died in Bergen-Belsen at the end of the book, I began sobbing as if my best friend had perished. In a way, that wasn't far from the truth.
I knew Anne had died young even before I had heard of this class. I tried reading The Diary of a Young Girl some years ago, and my Mom told me it was depressing. I asked her why, she told me that Anne dies at the end. That, and the fact that the beginning of the journal is terribly boring, drove me to abandon the book.
I have researched and written about Anne Fank's death , but I still wept. I curled up on my Mom's rocking chair, and I cried.
I learned so much about Anne as I read her journal, and through her, I learned about myself. She taught me as if she had stood and talked to me in person as I read her journal.
The last passage was particularly poignant, it was a beautiful ending to an amazing book. Anne truly poured all of her heart and soul into writing that entry. It made losing her all the more bitter-sweet.
Few books have made me cry as I did at the end. One other besides Anne's diary was the last book of "The Bartimeus trilogy". Although both have heart-rending endings, I am comforted by the fact that both have struck a chord within me.
It is becoming exceptionally windy, so I shall begin thinking of going inside. I wish to play a song on my flute for Anne, so I shall leave you here. Thank you, and, Namarie.