a lavender-blue mess

jacaranda trees, college flashbacks, and the girl i used to be

i parked under a jacaranda tree today.
not by accident. i knew what would happen.

the petals had already started falling — soft, lavender, almost weightless.
they drift down like feathers and don’t just land — they settle.
on the windshield. the roof. the hood.
they coat everything they touch in this delicate, pastel film.

jacarandas are beautiful, but they’re kind of a pain in the ass.
anyone who lives in southern california knows that.
they stain the paint. they clog your wipers.
they sneak in through the cracks in your windows.
the sidewalks turn into slippery, floral chaos all season.

back in college, we fawned over them.
they were picture-perfect.
soft purple clouds blooming over orange county like something out of a movie.

jacaranda avenue (funny enough) was just a few blocks from campus,
and every spring the trees would explode with color,
lining the sidewalks like a welcome parade.

all the cinematography boys were already thinking about which scene they’d shoot there.
probably something moody. during golden hour.
a breakup.
a dream sequence.
something with a girl on a beach cruiser and a love letter she never sends.

it was that season of life where everything felt fresh —
where the streets, the buildings, the trees, even the air
felt like they belonged to a version of you you hadn’t met yet.

everything felt bright and cinematic and full of promise.
like anything could happen.
especially after growing up in towns where nothing ever did.

and then the petals started piling up.
they caked the curbs.
ruined our freshly washed cars.
stuck to our shoes.

at some point, we all got sick of them.
they were beautiful, sure — but also kind of a nightmare.
too messy. too extravagant. too much.
like a lot of things we didn’t have the language for yet.

i changed my instagram bio every two weeks.
pretended i’d seen movies i didn’t care about so mediocre boys would like me.
curated every detail of my life like it was being watched.
wore outfits that cut into my skin.
over-explained my jokes.
over-apologized.
over-thought every text.
saved my crying for after class.
smiled even when i wanted to disappear.
tried to seem chill.
tried to seem okay.
tried.

and now, i see purple petals on the sidewalk and feel everything at once.
the promises i made to myself and never kept.
the friendships that ended messy, with no closure.
the versions of me i should’ve cared for more gently.
the moments i should’ve said something and didn’t.
the times i let myself be used just to feel wanted.
the nights i laughed so hard i forgot to overthink.
the time i performed on stage, terrified, but did it anyway.
the moment i walked away when something felt wrong, even though it would've been easier to stay.
the small wins no one saw.
the quiet losses i didn’t know how to name yet.

the mess.
the beauty.
all of it.

do i miss her?
i don’t know.
but here i am,

sitting in my car.
hoping the petals stick.