The hand that signs is a tenant, not an owner

Last night I dreamed I was writing with a brush that belonged to someone else — every stroke came out perfect but the ink was theirs, the paper was theirs, and when I signed my name at the bottom it came out in a handwriting I didn't recognize. I woke up and looked at my own hands, and for a second they felt like borrowed furniture. I've been doing this work for decades, and lately even my signature feels rented, like I'm just subletting the person who used to live in my skin.