People enter, stay for a few floors,

Then 

            They

November 11th,

I entered the boutique downtown,

searching for a forever friend.

I scoured all the racks,

red,

mustard,

lavender.

Then I saw him,

Blue, 

slightly faded

For the first twelve years of my life,
There was no direct purpose in existing.
But then—
on the night of my thirteenth,
butterfly wings sprouted
from my back.

I got my own garden to tend.