Works by Ben Balazs

She let it all out. She was a flame gasping for oxygen, licking at the blank sky. I had never seen someone cry out as she did. She wailed and fell into harsh whispers. I held her with an embrace so tight I could feel her pulse. The tears had washed over her reddened cheeks, leaving them raw and salty. She seemed to naturally curl up between my arms, shriveling like a prune as she did. It looked as if she tried her hardest to be as small as possible - small enough to disappear. Her roaring was tempered by the fabric of my clothing. It absorbed all her strife, grief, and regret. My shirt, before a pale yellow, had turned gray from the dampening fluid that trickled out of her eyes. It was a tragically beautiful sight. She was purging herself of her struggle, her tumultuous burden. It leaked out of her like helium from a balloon. She continued to deflate, to compress and squeeze out the sour taste of sorrow. Her eyes swelled and became glassy mirrors. Even so I didn't see myself in the...

It's the same echo we all love and adore. It's always there, sounding matte through the floorboards and walls. You can hear the spatter of the words, the vibrations in the plaster. It echoes. Sometimes it's loud enough for those outside of the house to hear. It dissipates like mist in the air, but before it can completely disappear it licks at someone else's ears. Sometimes when they hear it they cringe, or they whisper like snakes, but we all know that cry. I'm never really sure whether it's a cry for battle or for mercy. It seems to alternate from time to time. It happens all the same. It almost sounds like Beethoven. The two start out by pointing the blame, or saying something they shouldn't have. It turns into bitter speech, seasoned with slight jumps and over-pronunciations. Eventually someone crescendos into a roar, and the other follows, turning what sounded like running water into a hot tea kettle. At some point somebody says something too sour, to...

The Love Phenomenon I am completely astounded by the idea of love. Of course, who hasn’t said a line like that? But it’s just so bizarre. For someone like me, who’s young and new to the world, and unaware of the extent of my emotions and feelings, why is the idea of love so foreign? Even so, in my youth, with what little taste of love I've experienced to the most amateur degree, I can’t help but crave it. How strange it is that I crave something so foreign. So far away. When people think about love, they think of happiness, family, security, all packed into the eyes of their significant other. I don’t see that. To me, love is not romantic. It’s not some story or plot riddled with obstacles and goals and dreams and reaching the stars. Love appears to me as an instinct. An animalistic hunger, untamable. Love is this gnarly, raw, organic sensation that we simply cannot hope to define in any shape or form. Society appears to have limited the idea of love. To most, it is a science, ...

I Love You You are my gift from God. You are the first flower that blooms in the spring. You are my instrument of peace. You are my angel that always sings. Your beautiful face has never failed me. The way that you blush is so warming. Your soft skin is like smooth chocolate. You stop all sadness even when it's storming. Your lovely smile is unbeatable by any, For its light is so strong and blinding. And you have kept me going ‘till now, Thanks to your love that is so strongly binding. So there is still one favor I must ask you, And I say this with all that’s true. It is that I truly love you, So love me back and say “I do.” (I wrote this about 5 years ago, at the age of 13.)