Simon.  I see you.  I hear you.  I feel you.

I see your entire body shaking.  I see your balled fists pounding the air.  I see your scowl, your scrunched eyes.  I see the changes in your skin, from a pale blush to gray, blue, purple and red.

I hear your insistence.  I hear your reasoning.  I hear the strength of your meaning in your volume.  I suspect the neighbors do, too.

I feel you, sweet child of mine.  I feel your rage, your frustration, your fear and your sorrow.  I feel it as though it were my own.  Your tears are my tears.

I appreciate your use of courtesy words.  I appreciate your restraint from physically demonstrating your overwhelming feelings.  I appreciate how difficult this is for you.

All the same, I cannot give you this thing you ask of me.


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