Inside the Divine Mind of LADY Gaga

As usual, I was tripping on clickbait after work. I was tired, yet I still had to tackle two more things before bed.

So I needed to relax and not think.

I found celebrity site after site and Adele’s divorce led me to Lady Gaga, and the lady inside Gaga called Stefani. And her conflicting ties to Bradley Cooper.

The pictures capture every angle.

They capture the hand holding- like they were suppose to.

The close body language, the gushing of Stefani about Bradly supporting and seeing in her what she and others couldn’t.

I feel like what they shouldn’t have capture, or what Stefani wishes she didn’t show was her look.

Somewhere I read,

” How do you know if someone wants you? ”

” It’s the eyes Chico,  the eyes never lie. “

And her eyes were everywhere on him. She did what all actors are trained not to do-  believe the fairytale.

But we knew she wasn’t an actor despite obtaining the highest award an actor could receive. She was a singer, someone who’s passion and success was built about her music skill and her ability to make people feel her emotions.

Stefani only received that award from doing what she does best. Feeling. And I guess that is what is so embarrassing about the whole thing.

I think the saddest part is seeing how she looked not camera-happy or Hollywood-happy. She looked euphorically-happy. Whereas he always looks the same. The same smile. From every movie, every premier.

Yes, it was her first big movie success. Yes, she was the lead. However I think the hand holding got to her, as she is only human. And that look of love, was merely a receipt of the fact.

Gaga looks how every women wants to look when in love.

Authentic. Weird. Herself. Accepted. Proud. Grateful. Swaddled in feathers (at some point), while clutching his hand in a buttoned-down tuxedo. Was that so hard?

And then the photos show her coming off the stage with him, holding hands as he goes to kiss his wife.

The illusion ends, abruptly. All at once.

And you can tell this or feel it as she can’t afford to look at either of them. The eyes never lie, Stefani.

Doesn’t seeing the picture above just make your heart break off and crumbled at the corners for her? Loving someone you can’t have, something we all can relate to at least once in our lives.

But it doesn’t make it any less painful.


And then myself,  I was starting something new.

Something with weight. Something terrifying. To figure out if love could grow within my hostile environment.

Could love have a different face?

Could I stick around long enough to find out?

Why was I so scared? Is this the wrong person for me? The one who is patient. Who I see something warm in his eyes. Who is extra tall, extra gorgeous. Weird and soft all at once.


But he sends me music late at night and I like that.



Maybe the greatest love stories are the ones that are realised but never jump off that ledge.

Never fly,

never fall.

Never try,

never call.



are the reason


you can’t figure out what to


if at all.


A text would be too casual.

A call, too intrusive.


An   e m a i l   carries formality,

like a paper-weight in the mind.

An    e m a i l,

makes you stand still,

in the coffee line.


It’s almost like it never existed,

except it never wavers

with time.

If someone did an ultrasound,

it would be the first thing

they’d find.


To fully fill up the shape of what love looked like.

To feel it in your hands again,

have it buried in your mind.


For we will never know,

what goes on between the sheets.


The in-betweens of eyelids,

who visits you

while you sleep.


Do you think of me? 


Am I somewhere,

closer to you

then your pillow?


Am I

what makes you



Am I kept on a shelf somewhere,

too high

for you to reach?



The idea of ‘almost’,

so captivating,

so cruel.

It makes me want to cry,

lie, when someone asks if I still think of you.


Enough to warm you.

Enough to ignore you.


Enough to wonder,

what   is   love,

if not something to floor you?


And why,

when you keep it,

marry it,  leave it.

Why is it so boring,


So unromantic,

yet enduring?



Maybe love is so illusive because we are suppose to forget it’s shape,

It’s feel.

It’s shockingness.

Like the Loch Ness could still be real.


To find us as naive teenagers or as adults in second-time marriages.

To open our eyes to a different kind of life.

Of magic,

the adult kind.


When two people know themselves,

isn’t it just so divine…

The right kind of l _ _ _.

I hope to write my name under,

next time.

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