“Tristan's decline was steady and sure after that.

Every tragedy, every harship, seemed to suck him just a little bit deaper into the grip of his own personal hell.
It felt like every slip up, every relapse, was pulling us down, until the weight of all our failures was dragging us under.
At first we were drowning together, but my will to survive was too strong to let that continue forever.
My hold on him became weaker and weaker, and eventually, every finger broken, my hands opened, and I let him go.

No one could say I didn't fight for him. No one could say I didn't lose.”