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.