He would sleep as long as he could, after dinner to as late into the next day as he could. His dreams would be filled with so many wonderful things, his head clear of any horrid events. But, mostly, in his dreams, his grandfather was still alive. In his dreams, he rarely saw the relative, but he knew, in that dream-fazed mind, that his grandfather was good and breathing. And that helped him. That saved him.
He knew he was probably excessively sleeping, but he didn't care. Whenever he had a rough day and wished so bad his grandfather was there, but then realized he would never see the man again, he slept. He could never cry, he hated crying, it always gave him a headache and made him feel weak. But, with sleep, he could get happiness and joy.
He had realized he was probably scaring his family with how much he locked himself in his room; however, he couldn't help it. To him, it was like losing his best friend. He didn't know how to cope. And it didn't help that the one person who offered to help console him knew nothing of this kind of pain.
Soon enough, he didn't see life as anything important, he didn't see day as something he should be happy with. Instead, he was more unhappy awake, but when he slept, he could always smile. He treated sleep like his sanctuary, always helping him like it was something that could cure a man of the most disasterous disease. It may not have been important to anyone else, but it was his main priority.
Eventually, he found himself sleeping through breaks at school, his friends not being able to make him happy or smile. He liked this different realm he went in, it made him seem stronger and it made him feel a hundred times better.
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