The walls are thin

Sometimes it feels there is no boundary between her skin and mine.  Overlapping like water over sand.  I felt it deep in today’s early morning wake-up, which shuffled my feet from our dark room to hers.  Head plunged into her hair, damp pillow, like I never left my own bed.  Thin difference.  Sometimes none.  Perhaps this is why parenting her can feel so hard.  I feel my own faults, fears, hopes, power, right below the surface.  Is it hers, or mine?  She breathes in as I breathe out.  Like the cord was never cut.