His name was Phillip, and it meant friend, quick-witted, and beloved. His name fit his personality like the stars fit the galaxy.  Of course there was some leadership skills and a deep commanding voice that struck people cold where they stood. Those brilliant traits did not show up in the meaning of his name. It came in his voice that rang with pure thunder.The rage that lay hidden inside shimmered through his crystallized blue eyes during the moments when he was vulnerable. Although his rage grew inside, it wasn't out of control like some fires. It was calm and controlled. A person could hear how calm the fire burned inside him by the way he spoke to me. He would say to me “It will be okay” and he said this with such confidence that it almost scared me. I believed him because it gave me comfort; made me feel secure in a place that I hated with such bloody passion.
At the time I knew the blonde headed genius I was in ninth grade. Of course I met him earlier on in life that seemed to slowly suck the life out of my soul, but this was the time I saw the mysteriously profound glimpse of the gears that made his clock tick. During the days I spent with him, he talked a lot of his love for a lady that I knew. He had such passion for such a young age that I let myself be hypnotized by the thoughts he rambled on about. I never responded with words when it came to the night crawling personal talks that only happened when nobody was around. It was more like responding with my facial expression that made him talk more about this love he had. “ I love her” he would say to me with head dropping down; picking at the green grass we sat on. He struggled with this idea that he was not good enough for her; he was very selfless. He knew as much as I did about the anger that traveled through his beating heart. It was a curious thing to watch him live everyday with a sense of understanding that it wasn't easy for him to get out of the bed; that he seemed to somewhat dream in.
Some days he never got out of bed. Some days he planned his death. “If  I go don't be sad” he said to me one day. I remember this clearly as I would the day before. It was a summer night with no clouds in sight. The stars hung above us like a giant chandler without a switch to turn them off. I had the privilege to stay at his house and with this privilege I got to see that glimpse that was so inspiring to the world because this is the glimpse that made him tick. As he said these things to me I understood his grief; the grief of having the feeling that nobody loved him. It was the first time I ever saw him cry a river while eating sticky s'mores. I told him love is pure and it should never be tainted by presumptuous acts. “You are a very intelligent person.” I paused for a second or two. “Phil, you're a good person no matter what you think of yourself” I handed him a tissue. He took his fingers and ran them through his hair; his soul revealed in his eyes. Those eyes were the most beautiful things when it showed his heart shattering fear of being alone. It was beautiful because it was real and then he looked at me and said “ I’m afraid if I get too close I will hurt her”. My sympathy ran deep for him and I realized it was his love to be loved that made him live. It was such an inspiration that he fought everyday to get out of bed just to see her alive. It was almost like a love story that was never written in book or played in a teen drama. It was simply pure like the droplets of water that sat perfectly still on the red roses that grew through the rough gravel. .
His name was Phil, what a brilliant name it was and it was not just a name that a person would hear throughout the hallways that I called hell. It was the name that inspired and created the meaning of life for so many lost souls. Today those hallways fall silent to the stars that were shut off. Sometimes I look back and regret the days that I didn't spend with him.  The moments that I could have seen him smile just for second or the laughs I could listen to on replay. I suppose if  I wanted to see him I could scroll down the photos that are scattered across the internet, but those photos are fake. The smile that is plastered on his face is forced and I can see in his eyes that he screams for love that I could never give him. It makes me sick that his classmates said horrendous words that made my blood boil with hate. “He was a nice kid” or “He will be missed” when they knew nothing about him. I feel as if people are almost oblivious to his death the way they walk around as if nothing happened.
It was not an accident when he slipped of the bridge. How could anybody slip off a bridge? What I know is that the moments I spent with him where the most inspirational moments of my life. Phil, it's almost ironic how he ended up being the person to show me that life was worth living and being the person to end his own. I will never forget his blue eyes that once blended with sky or nights we spent talking about what would happen if the stars exploded. Now I know what would happen; I would say “Good bye”.