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Dear Diary,
Aaron has ignored my attempt to pull him back into reality. He and a few of his friends in his barrack have devised an elaborate escape plan, involving the escape of at least twenty Jews. Eleven men and nine women. It was difficult to make the numbers even. He wouldn't stop talking about how wonderful and brilliant it was. Enlightenment sent from God, he said. I let him dream while coping with my own problems. I have enough for fifty, it seems.
Looking back, I can't even see the same little freshman who stuck out her chest and defied Hitler. So innocent and bold, unafraid and pure. I don't know the meanings of those words anymore. Who was I? What was I thinking? What did I know about love or the world or suffering or pain? I am so scarred now, so thinned from that child, there is no longer any resemblance. Then I had so much life and nothing to do with it. Now I loath life, and would gladly give it up if I could.

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What keeps me from just dying? What pushes me so to survive?
There must be some fraction of that girl left that hasn't been shredded or scored or bruised or torn. That one piece left, that thread.
I guess that's what keeps me alive.