Writing

The Last Entry to Be Written.

“I can’t keep that up: if I’m watched to that extent, I start by getting snappy, then unhappy, and finally I twist my heart round again, so that the bad is on the outside and the good is on the inside and keep on trying to find a way of becoming what I would so like to be, and what I could be, if…there weren’t any other people living in the world.”

On Tuesday, August 1, 1944, a teenage girl sat down at her desk in a secret little room. A pen in hand and blank paper before her, she dashed her thoughts across the page. When she set her pen down, she didn’t realize that she’d never write again. She didn’t realize that three days later, some men in black suits would storm into the secret place she lived and take her to a place where very few would survive, including her. Little did she realize that many years later, her father would publish her secret words from her secret room so that all the world would see.

I don’t think Anne Frank realized just how much her words would change the world. 73 years ago today, on Tuesday, August 1, 2017, her words are still going strong today. She is the cover girl for the Holocaust, of hope and sadness all at once.

I don’t have much to say, you know? I know she was a real person, but sometimes it’s hard to imagine that she was because she is a legend in my eyes, a girl who had so much to give to the world but couldn’t. So many questions that remain unanswered.

There’s not much more that I could say. I can almost hear everybody saying, “There she goes again, being all gushy about Anne Frank, a girl she’s never met.” But even though it’s been 73 years since the last entry she’ll ever write, I’m still sad for her. I’m still sad that she never got to live to see how it all would end, to be successful in her writing and acting and who knows what else. I’m angry that she and so many others didn’t live to see what they could have become.

What if this is my last entry to be written? What if someone comes for me in the middle of the night so that I could starve and die. I want my posts to be remembered. I want my writing to be something that made people happy and make them think. I want them to be inspired and moved. Will I ever know that? I don’t know. But at least I can do my best and hope. Because you never know when this post is going to be your last.

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