Answer:
Everyone has me, but nobody can lose me. What am I?
I have a name written on me, but it isnβt my name. Men plant me, but I never grow. They look at me and see their future, rotting in my bloom.
It's in your hand though you can not feel it. Only you and time can reveal it.
I travel in a gaggle.
What is it that after you take away the whole some still remains?
No matter how little or how much you use me, you change me every month.